


Echo

by EonAO3



Series: STRIKE [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Marvel fandom - Fandom, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), mcu fandom
Genre: Action, Action/Adventure, Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Canon-Typical Violence, Drinking, Explicit Language, Fighting, Injury, Post-Avengers (2012), Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, References to Torture, Weapons, references to violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-28
Updated: 2017-11-11
Packaged: 2018-05-03 19:19:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 80
Words: 231,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5303579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EonAO3/pseuds/EonAO3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Allison Addams, STRIKE Operator, "died" when Insight 01 crashed into Tower B of the Triskelion and SHIELD fell. In the wind, and with no one to trust, Allison's self-assigned mission is to discover HYDRA's secrets and take them down. And, if she can, find the love of her life and save the life of a new, unlikely ally.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sep 2010

"You passed all their tests. You represent the 15th percentile of all SHIELD agents. Experts at strategy, tactics, spycraft, foreign languages, how to survive, how to kill, and how to get away with it all. So, you impressed somebody."

He had been pacing, slow and measured, up and down the lines and between the ranks, hands folded at rest behind his back. He stopped, eyes roaming over the agents in front of him and looking a little bored. His speech would have sounded almost complimentary if he hadn't dropped a tone at the end.

"Big. fucking. deal," he said, decidedly apathetic and unaffected. "You have _not_ impressed me."

The methodical pace resumed across the front of the formation. His training staff, lined along the wall of the training room and watching, chuckled among themselves arrogantly. His voice was louder, more insistant and unquestionably commanding now.

"You wanna be on this team?...You have to earn it...You will be pushed, challenged, hurt- physically and mentally. You will hit the rack at night begging for mercy," he promised. "I'm not here to hold your hand and tell you 'good job'. I will not break you down and build you back up. Leave that cuddly, spirit de corps shit at home." He stopped at the front of the room, centered to the formation and staring them down. "You think you're tough? That you've been an agent for who-gives-a-fuck many years and this is just another promotion?...SEALS, MARSOC, SAS- 75 to 90% attrition. STRIKE? 95%. If you survive this process, you will find yourself in the top 1% of all SHIELD agents...Look around you. Don't bother learning names or remembering faces. Half of you fuckwits won't be here next week. And another half of that next week. And the week after that until I have culled the weak and unworthy out of you and I find my 1%...You better be fuckin' indestructible."

Those were the kindest words spoken to any of the 47 candidates for the four available slots on STRIKE Team Echo. Days began at 0530. Nights ended at 2000 hours. 5-mile "fun runs" at first light; classroom studies on strategy, espinonage tehniques and counters, interrogation techniques and counters, target assessments, asset recruitment, counter terrorism, rules of engagment; obstacle courses; weapons training; 10-mile "fun runs" for punishment; combat medical training; parachute and fast rope deployments; hand to hand combat and close quarters tactics; the gas house; airborne and amphibious operations; recertifying and updating on new equipment. Recruits began dropping like flies- dismissed for academic and physical performance, med evac'd from the winter warfare and survival courses, dropped to the wait list with injuries too severe to keep up with the class. It was demanding, aggressive, fast paced, and hardcore. It was brutal. It had to be.

The STRIKE commander demanded perfection. It wasn't an unreasonable request. Members of STRIKE were world class operators. STRIKE teams were elite. But if STRIKE was the spear of SHIELD, Echo was the razor sharp point. Echo Team operated in the most grueling conditions, in the most violent places, and policed the baddest of the bad. Delta was the face of STRIKE and the place to be if you didn't mind the attention. They were, after all, assigned to support Captain Rogers. But Echo was at the next level. Fielding the toughest ops and assignments and the outsourced work of other governments, they did the dirty work SHIELD didn't talk about out loud and they had a zero failure rating. They operated with a moral flexibility that would keep the public up at night if they knew Echo even existed. Echo made the impossible happen. They were legend.

Dec 2010

At the end of the four month course, only six candidates remained to run "The Gauntlet" for the four vacancies and the privilege of becoming a Specialist and no longer an Agent. A seven day long series of tests to evaluate and eliminate. Agents were dropped in the field with three days rations and water. Over the course of the hellish week, they were exposed to the elements and sleep deprived while they responded to mental and physical challenges, obstacles alone and as a team, combat assault courses, and crossed 85 miles of wooded and semi-mountainous terrain on foot. Cuts from concertina wire, blisters in wet boots, bruises and sprains from ambushes and conducting raids, and hypothermia were the least of their worries. If an instructor or member from Alpha or Charlie Teams captured or "killed" a candidate, they were immediately disqualified. At the end of the week, only three agents made it through.

Just before sunset, Echo Team and their commanding officers and the training staff gathered at the last checkpoint of The Gauntlet. The three new members stood in a row at attention with a slight hint of a sway, muscles fatigued, minds exhausted, and uniforms and bodies stained with mud and blood. They were running on the last drops of adrenalin, spurred on by well deserved pride at their accomplishment. Director Fury gave a short but stirring congratulatory speech, welcoming them to the worst job they'll ever love. He personally shook their hands as the Commander followed beside him. Fury gave the last cadidate in line an extra look and a single, approving nod of his head.

"Congratulations, Spc. Addams," he told her. "First woman in SHIELD to qualify for Echo. Make us proud."

With permission from his smile, she broke from eyes front to meet his gaze and smile back. "Yes, Sir."

The Director moved aside and her eyes snapped forward and expression hardened again. The STRIKE Commander stopped in front of her and she held her left palm open. He pressed the Echo Team unit tab into her hand and she folded her fingers over it tightly, as their right hands met to shake. From her periphery, she saw Fury move back to stand with the other brass. The Commander eyed her up and down, with a smug smile.

"Congratulations, Spc. Addams," he nodded. "Everybody's gonna have their eye on you."

"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir."

He stepped back, sizing her up again. He scoffed at her, as he nodded his head looking down the line of new members. He straightened himself to attention and barked orders. "Load out your personal effects from the barracks. See Sgt. Henry for the Quartermaster schedule. You three are on 72 hours leave. You will be given your squad assignments upon your return. See Medical before you depart. Echo, fall out!"

The newly promoted operators relaxed and turned behind them to shoulder their gear from the field. Most of the members of Echo made a round of welcoming them to the team and introducing themselves. The senior staff milled among themselves and mostly parted ways when Director Fury left. As the new members made their way to their ride back to the Triskelion for their medical assessments, the Commander's voice boomed from behind.

"Spc. Addams," he called.

She stopped with a quick about-face and stood at attention. "Sir."

He walked to stand in front of her and looked down his nose at her, crossing his arms tightly enough to flex his muscles and strain the fabric of his coat. "Don't think for a minute that we're gonna give you a break or do all the lifting for you because you're a woman. You pull your own weight. You better impress me every day or I'll bust you down to polishing my boots and makin' me fuckin' sandwiches all goddamned day. You got that?"

"Yes, Sir. Looking forward to it, Sir."

"That's it," he said, with a dismissive wave. "Get outta my sight."

"Yes, Sir."

God, she hated Brock Rumlow.

Feb 2015

Fishing the last towel out of the washer, she wound it up and hurled it underhand into the dryer with a triumphant fist pump for no one but herself to enjoy. She nudged the machine's door shut with her knee and pressed the start button. With an hour to kill, she left the laundry room and headed to the kitchen. Strolling lazily behind the stainless steel counters, she made her way to the pantry and examined the shelves. She pulled down an open cardboard box and took it out to the counter nearby. She folded back the flaps of the box and, closing her eyes, turned her head away to reach blindly inside. Her fingers settled on the end of one of the thick plastic bags and she pulled at random. She opened one eye warily to read the package label to herself.

"Beef Stew? Jackpot!"

She set the bag aside and closed up the box to return it to the pantry. She broke open the plastic shrinkwrap on a case of water and pulled a bottle. Grabbing her MRE on the way, she took a seat in the rolling office chair set in the aisleway between the steam tables and ovens. She pulled a rifle sling over her head and laid the M4 on the metal ledge in front of her beside her water. Scooting the chair until her knees touched the steel ahead of her, she pulled apart the vacuum sealed meal bag and sprinkled the contents out into her lap. She sifted through the individual packets and piled everything on the counter except her stew and spoon. Tearing open the top of her rown temperature dinner, she held the spoon in her mouth when she unholstered her pistol to set on the counter in front of her as an afterthought. She shifted to find a comfortable angle in the worn down chair and ate her meal alone, eyes fixed ahead on the doorway of the small cafeteria.

Dinner was quiet. But then it always was. Alone in the compound built to house 50, she was still quiet as a mouse and acutely aware of her surroundings. The concrete walls carried any sound to give a warning and provided more than enough cover protection from at least a 5.56 round, by her rough assessment. The kitchen steel would catch most fire or slow it down enough to probably be non-fatal. She had shelter, water, electricity, and enough cases of MRE's to last one person for months. It was cold and dreary, but it was the closest thing to call home that she could manage, given the circumstances.

The Triskelion and helicarriers had fallen nine months ago. A dusty fire beside the Potomac announcing the end of SHIELD and the return of HYDRA. She was homeless and officially deceased.

Allison Addams was listed as MIA and presumed dead. It wasn't much of a stretch. She was in the Triskelion when Captain Rogers made his announcement and the last anyone could corroborate was that she may have still been on the 23rd floor when Insight 01 crashed into Tower B of the SHIELD stronghold and the structure collapsed. In such circumstances, few intact bodies are ever actually recovered and positively identified. Mostly her ID in the rubble and her failure to appear at a hospital, or anywhere else on the grid for that matter, led to the natural conclusion that she was dead.

Being dead was about as boring and lonesome as one could imagine. The four or five words she spoke to a cashier on a supply run or as an apology for bumping someone on a crowded street hardly qualified as conversation. She spent most of her down time working out and shifting through burned records or trying to recover data from destroyed hard drives. There was a TV in the rec room for a little entertainment and to check the news, but setting booby traps in and around the compound hardly counted as a hobby. At least she had her iPod.

Dinner gone and laundry dry, she retreated to the barracks in the rear of the building. She dropped the pile of linens on one of the unused beds to fold later. She was too tired to care about wrinkles and stripped off the sweatshirt she'd layered over her cold gear. Turning off the light, the small compound was officially black and devoid of any light. She knew the room by counted steps and brail. She climbed under the pair of wool blankets of the top bunk with the view of the open doorway, boots and all, and settled her rifle over her stomach. Her hand double checking the location of the night vision monocle at her side, she closed her eyes and waited for sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Aug 2011

Sgt. Addams and the rest of her fire team were in the large briefing room, dotted around and filling in the empty chairs of the tables at random. Her elbows pointed into the tabletop, she rubbed the heels of her palms into her eyes. They burned and sweated from fatigue. The team's 1st Squad, her squad, had just returned from South America from the extraction of a defecting diplomat. The mission clock ran barely over three hours but the staging had lasted for an unexpected two days in the tropical clime, bedded down along a choke point in a dirt road, when the diplomat's security amended his travel schedule at the last minute. In the process of the grab and go, several members of the diplomatic entourage were taken into custody as a favor for the ICJ in The Hague. The prisoners needed watching and no one had slept for almost three days. Looking up again to try and focus on Rumlow's debriefing, she elbowed the quietly snoring operator beside her to rouse him.

"For fuck's sake, Eric," she whispered, as he straightened up. "If I gotta listen to this shit, so do you."

"Am I boring you, Cpl. Mickelson?" Rumlow asked, loudly, his eyebrows raised in sarcastic curiosity at the man.

Mickelson wiped at his face and sniffed. "No, Sir. By all means, carry on."

Rumlow smirked and his head ticked back. "Lucky for your lazy ass, I'm finished," he told him. "Good work, everybody. Get cleaned up and get some chow. 1st Squad, you're on three days liberty. Report back Thursday, oh-700...preferably sober. Dismissed."

The room came to life with the noise of chairs moving across the lanolium floor and the operators tiredly murmuring among themselves about their plans for their down time. All filing to the door, Rumlow remained at the podium at the head of the room. He was shutting down the computer and screens in the room when he called to Allison.

"Sgt. Addams- a word before you go."

"Now what'd you do?" Mickelson joked, giving her a friendly push in the arm. 

"Hell if I know," she said, pushing him back and turning to head back through the room. "Sir?"

He lifted his eyes up from his downturned head when she stopped in front of the podium at as sharp an attention as she could manage in her exhaustion. "At ease," he commanded, returning his gaze to his work. "You look like shit."

"Thank you, Sir."

Rumlow snapped the laptop in front of him shut and planted his hands over top of the podium's sides under straightened arms as he gave her a once over. "Nice work with el huevón today."

"Thank you, Sir."

"Tomorrow, 1900," he said. "Let's get together and talk about it."

"Sir?"

"Lemme buy you a beer," he rephrased, a quick fan of his fingers off the podium sides to emphasize the suggestion. "Besides, I owe you one for Gaborone last month."

From behind a long and tired blink, she accepted. "Yeah. Sure."

"Good," he nodded, pushing back from the podium and stepping around to walk toward the door. "Barny's at 7."

"Got it," she told him, with a half-assed salute that would have surely earned his ire if he had seen.

Dec 2012

"Addy," he called from the bedroom. "Come 'ere."

Padding barefoot down the hardwood hallway, she stopped at the threshold of the room to find him inside. Shirt collar popped up and unbuttoned, Brock looked below his raised chin at the reflection of the knot of his tie in the dresser mirror. His eyes found hers in the mirror and a smile tugged up the corner of his mouth. He pulled the knot apart, letting the ends of the tie fall down his chest and his hands to his sides. She smirked and entered the room, meeting him at the dresser as he turned to face her. She slid her fingers under the loose tie and began a fresh knot. He dutifully raised his chin again and waited, his eyes patiently scanning the ceiling.

"Fuck ties," he declared. Rumlow turned his eyes down to see her amused face. "I'd be a fuckin' mess without you."

Allison slid the knot up to his loose collar and patted a hand gently over the tie and his chest. "Probably."

He reached to button his collar, turning back into the mirror to finish adjusting the tie. "I hate these Christmas parties," he grumbled. "I tell you, if Fury weren't there to know the difference..."

"It's fun," she told him, sitting down on the side of the bed to watch him. "It's Christmas. It's a good way for everyone to blow off steam, too. Besides- open bar."

Checking himself in the mirror, he cocked his head, with a thoughtful pout. "There is that," he agreed. 

"Free booze makes everything better," she pointed out.

Shrugging on the jacket of his suit, he walked over to stand in front of her while he fixed his collar and lapel. She admired him from her seat, stretching a hand up to trace a finger down the front of his tie. Jacket smoothed, he gave her a wicked smile and put a knee onto the bed beside her, his move forward directing her back to the mattress. His hands caging her head, he leaned down to kiss her. She curled her arms around the backs of his and giggled as he kissed down along her neck and across her shoulder, the stubble of his jaw softly scratching her skin and the heat of his breath sending a small tingle through her. He came back to touch his nose to hers and stare into her blue eyes.

"It's gonna be hell seeing you in that dress tonight and not be able to do a damn thing about it," he complained, in a playful growl. 

"There's always later," she suggested, tilting her head to nip at his chin.

"Ohh," he breathed out. "There's gonna be a later."

Rumlow straightened up, taking a step back and holding out his hand for her to take. He pulled her to her feet, gracing her knuckles with his lips, and she gave him a quick peck on the cheek as thanks before sidestepping to pick up her shoes at the end of the bed. Reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulled out a small, black velvet jewelry box. He moved to her side and she put a hand on his shoulder for balance as she slid on her heels one at a time. He held up the box for her to see, waggling it in his fingertips to tease her.

"Since you'll be working for Christmas," he explained. "You've been good. You can have this early."

She plucked the box from his hand with a suspicious smile. Tipping open the lid, her eyes widened at the pear shaped diamond earrings. Set in platinum, they had to be an easy caret each. She coughed out a short laugh, delighted and presuming he'd overheard her conversation with a couple of the female analysts about jewelry they'd splurge on, if they could, at lunch one day. Allison looked back and forth between the present and Brock. His smile beamed proudly at her surprise.

"Did I do good, Addy, or what?"

Allison laughed at the question and answered with an enthusiastic nod. "They're beautiful," she gushed, pulling off the silver earrings she wore to replace them with her gift.

"Merry Christmas, baby," he said, warmly, wrapping his arms low around her waist and pulling her in for a long, loving kiss. He leaned his head away and looked down at her. "You go ahead. I'll be ten minutes behind you."

Allison laughed, stepping away. "You know, it's absurd the way you plan socializing at work events like missions, right?"

He chuckled along. "Well, if you wanna get one or both of us kicked off STRIKE, I'd be happy to drive," he offered.

"That's okay," she declined. "I need this job. Not a lot of marketable skills for the civilian world, ya know."

"And that's why you stick to your AO tonight and I'll stick to mine," he said, escorting her out of the room with his hand laid along the line of her shoulders, thumb caressing the curve of her neck. 

God, she loved Brock Rumlow.


	3. Chapter 3

May 2014

The sirens wailed around her, screaming in from every direction. Shoulder leaned into the concrete column of the bridge, she squinted back across the river through the settling dust at the fiery black plumes rising from where the second tower of the Triskelion had stood. Fire trucks eased along the bridge, their sirens and horn blasts falling deaf on the pedestrians choking the roadway as they fled the disaster behind them. Coughing and spitting out a mouthful of the thick air, she reached forward to help a man in a suit carry an injured woman.

Allison shuffled along, one arm of the injured woman draped around her neck. She, and the unnamed man, helped to ease the woman down to the grass on the far side of the street where a makeshift staging area was set up for the wounded. Her hands free, she walked away before anyone could ask any questions, scanning the world around her for any faces who would know hers. She kept moving, making her way to the subway and hoping Metro PD, Homeland, or some other authority chasing their tails at the incident on the river right now hadn't shut down the lines.

She blended in surprisingly easily on the train. Surrounded by dozens of people packed into the car, all trying to get home and find safety, she stood silently at the end of the car, observing the crowds worried faces and distraught conversations. Her absolute calm among the panicky subway riders would have been suspicious, if everyone weren't so absorbed in their own fear. She felt a little guilty for not being able to commiserate with them, but she wasn't anything like them and she had objectives to achieve.

The streets were oddly quiet and mostly absent of people and traffic. Looking over her shoulder, she could see the black smoke still rising strong and wide from the island. She lighted the stoop of the brownstone quickly, working her key into the lock smoothly, and opening the door just enough to slide in. She stood in the foyer, listening. There was nothing.

"Brock? ...You here?"

She waited, closing and locking the door gently behind her.

"Are you here?!" she called out, her voice cracking anxiously. "...Fuck."

Racing up the stairs, she checked each room. No one was home. Pulling out her cell phone from her pocket, she checked the screen, nervous and hopeful and fearful all at once. Nothing. Walking into the master bedroom, she stopped. Hands on her hips, her eyes searched around the room and she felt a warm, dampness filling her eyes. She swallowed hard, heading into the bathroom and, turning on the shower faucet, she stripped off her dust covered clothes and stepped into the hot shower. 

She didn't have time to enjoy the relaxing heat of the water. She was washed, dry, and changed in barely five minutes. Padding into the bedroom again, she went to the dresser and emptied the drawers of the handful of clothes and items that could link her to the home. She retrieved her soiled clothes from the next room, folding them over on themselves.

Rushing down the stairs, she turned into the kitchen and pulled a pair of plastic grocery bags out from under the sink. Her dirty clothes in one and the other items in another, she grabbed a paper towel to quickly wipe the dirt from her boots to wear again. The sound of a police siren wailing down the street made her pause, wondering wether it was or wasn't the police. It may be a SHIELD vehicle coming. The siren came and faded away again and she let out the breath she had been holding, disappointed it wasn't Brock coming back to his place to look for her.

She grabbed a bottle of water out of the fridge. Twisting it open and taking a long drink, she leaned back against the counter and took in the silence. Her mind wandered and she heard Captain Rogers in her head again. _SHIELD is not what we thought it was. It's been taken over by HYDRA. - Alexander Pierce is their leader. The STRIKE and Insight crew are HYDRA as well. -_ _They shot Nick Fury. And it won't end there._

Suddenly angered, Allison put her drink aside and walked upstairs to the office made out of the spare bedroom. She eyed the room carefully, almost glaring. Pulling back the chair from the desk, she sat down and moved the cursor to wake the computer. She clicked and scanned the drives, looking for anything unusual. Finding nothing, she leaned back into the chair and swiveled around to study the room.

"This is fuckin' ridiculous," she muttered to herself. "What are you doing, Addy?"

 _I know they're in the building. They could be standing right next to you_. 

She couldn't shake what the Captain had said and it made her angry all over again. Standing up abruptly from the chair, she searched. Tipping frames away from walls, checking for seams behind furniture, rifling through filing cabinets and drawers, she was quick but careful to leave nothing looking disturbed. Folding back the area rug in the middle of the room, her hand ran the length of each board underneath. She stopped when her fingertip scraped into a joint raised just a hair above the evenness of the rest of the wood. Pressing the board, she heard the small click of a spring latch giving way and the board popped up enough to lift out from the end. Beneath it was a digitally locked safe dropped vertically into the floor.

Ordinarily, she would be proud of the find. Looking the lock over though, she was worried to find out what was inside the safe she'd never seen or heard about before. Folding herself forward over her knees, she leaned her elbows into the floor, contemplating the combination and consequences if she guessed wrong. Devices like this usually gave you three strikes before locking out, and she mulled over her best guesses of the combination for a long minute.

The buttons under her fingertip beeped sharply as she entered the first four-digit attempt. There was a small, unhappy buzz from the safe and she muttered a curse to herself. She tried the next set of numbers and failed again. _Come on, come on._ Holding her breath, she pressed in her last guess. There was a metal clank and the safe face clicked open. _Gotcha_.

Lifting the lid, she peered inside. She pulled out several file folders leaned against the side of the safe and held there by a tablet. There was a small pile of passports and money in the bottom of the safe. She didn't disturb those. Allison sat up on her heels, putting aside the tablet and turning the folders over to face front. What she saw sickened her and she swallowed the acid in her throat back down. _Oh, God, no_.

The multi-limbed emblem of HYDRA was unmistakable. She crushed her eyes closed a moment, foolishly hoping when she opened them again the image would be SHIELD's. Shaking her head and feeling the wetness come back into her eyes, she bent open one of the folders. In her hands was a dossier on Captain Rogers with a post-it note on the first page in Brock's handwriting and she shut the folder fast, unable to look at anything more. She shook her head and took a calming breath before shutting the lid and stretching the hem of her shirt down to wipe her prints from the small vault.

She stood quickly, realizing she was no longer safe in the once welcoming townhouse. Allison reset the rug on the floor and gathered the files and the tablet under her arm, racing back downstairs to grab her bags and water from the kitchen. She stuffed her discovery and drink into the bags and grabbed the towel from the door of the oven. Going from room to room, she wiped at every surface she could ever think she touched and erased herself from the home. She took her bags and was out the door, wiping her shirt over the door handle as she left. 

Feb 2015

The small electronic chirp from her watch woke her slowly. Pressing the illumination button, it was 6 a.m. and time to get up. Stretching as she slid down off the side of the bed until her boots hit the floor, she yawned quietly. Taking a flashlight from her pocket, she lit up the room and pulled her rifle down from the mattress and into her palm. With a sniff and a sigh, she trudged through the hallway to the command center. She snapped on the lights, with a grimace at the sudden, painful brightness. Her eyes ran over the monitors on the wall and banked at the desk in the middle of the room. No alarms tripped and nothing on the monitors after several minutes of yawn-filled observation, she left the room and turned down the hall to the women's restroom. 

She showered fast. No one wants to be ambushed and murdered in the shower. It was the least appealing way she could figure to die naked. She had the necessity of showering down to an art form and was toweling off faster than the hot steam could stick to the mirror. She pulled on fresh clothes and her boots before grabbing the rifle she had propped up against the outer wall of the shower stall and turning off the lights of the bathroom behind her. She flipped on the hallway lights and walked to go to the kitchen.

Rituals simplified life. Pantry, box, mystery meal, water, sit, guns, eat, watch. It was boring, yet practical. The weather forecast called for heavy rain. She didn't need any supplies and had no sortie planned for a couple of days. She elected to take a day off "at home". She kicked her feet up on an ottoman in front of one of the thick leather chairs in the rec room and marathoned an afternoon of Harry Potter movies on TV, pausing for food and restroom breaks. It was a comfortable way to waste a rainy day and would almost be relaxing if the volume weren't so low a deep breath could cover the sound so she could hear any alarms from the control room or any of her traps being tripped.

By nine o'clock, she was climbing back up into bed. The bunker blacked out again, she listened to the sound of her even breathing as she closed her eyes and held her M4 across her belly. 

Nov 2011

"Sir," she greeted, standing up from behind one of the computers at the console of the STRIKE Operactions Command Center.

Rumlow and Steve Rogers entered the room, both giving her an acknowledging nod. She stepped around the computers and held out a manilla folder stamped "eyes only" atop the SHIELD emblem emblazoned on front. Rumlow took the folder and immediately thumbed it open.

"Nice to see you again, Sgt. Addams," Steve smiled.

"Likewise, Captain Rogers," she agreed, with a nod and smile. She turned to Brock. "The latest transcripts from Interrogation, Sir. Delta's standing by in Briefing Room 2 for you. The Quinjet on Pad 7 is fueled and ready. Wheels up in 20 minutes."

"Excellent," Rumlow nodded, as he read. He closed the folder and looked at Steve. "We're good to go, Cap."

Steve pointed at the splint running under the middle finger of Allison's right hand, a thin piece of gauze hiding a trio of stitches underneath. "How long you gonna be stuck in the office?" he asked.

Allison held up her injured hand to frown at. "Couple weeks or less, I'm hoping."

"Tough break," Steve said.

"Well, if she'd stop flipping people off, it'd heal a lot faster," Rumlow quipped, crossing his arms over his chest with a smirk.

The trio shared a small laugh, before Rogers sarcastically added, "Noo. That doesn't sound like you at all."

She shrugged innocently and Brock went on. "Yeah, and if you buy that, I got a bridge ta sell ya." They chuckled again. "At least she got the guy before he got away."

"True," Rogers seconded. "If you're up for it, maybe we could use you on Delta when Agent Romanoff isn't available. A female always available to the team can be handy."

"No, no, no," Brock waved him off. "Don't be upsetting my rosters now. She belongs in Echo. And trust me, you're not interested in the scorched Earth that follows her on a bad day an' someone's pissed her off."

Steve smirked. "Well, the offer still stands."

"Thanks, Captain," she said.

Brock slapped the folder on Steve's arm. "Let's go, Cap," he said. "Clock's ticking."

Feb 2015

She ran the footage back again, squinting at the video on the large main screen on the wall. 

"Who the hell are you?" she muttered to herself.

Sitting down at the console, her fingers worked the keyboard quickly. She moved the video frame by frame, searching for an angle to make out any details to identify the man in the video. Under a ballcap pulled low, the man had walked across the bunker entrance. She couldn't map his pedigree. Her best guesses were he was a male, white, 6' to 6'2", an easy 200lbs plus judging from the build under his open front coat. His face turned down and hands in his pockets as he glanced over the heavy door recessed into the hillside when he went by didn't give her much more. The odd quality of the setting sun across the camera lens didn't help either. 

It had been an hour since the proximity alarms tripped and she surveilled him from the monitors of the command center as he walked through the woods. He wore jeans and boots and had a black backpack on him. She wanted to dismiss him as an off course hiker but the adrenalin that surged when the alarm had sounded wouldn't let it go. Frustrated that she couldn't get a better analysis of the images, she slumped back into the chair and flitted her eyes across the monitors to see if any other signs of the traveler appeared.

People had always told her she had the patience of an oak and that's what kept her in her seat, watching and waiting for the next three and a half hours for any signs of human life outside. Allison was slouched in the chair, booted feet on the console rocking her forward and back in her chair and thumb nail absentmindedly trapped between her front teeth. A red banner flashed across the bottom of the large screen ahead of her on the wall and she sat up quickly, leaning into the console to silence the warning alarm.

"There you are."

Her eyes ticked around the monitors as the mystery man from earlier that evening strolled across one screen and then the next. He was making his way back to the bunker entrance. Allison could feel the tension building in her jaw, a habit she'd picked up sparring to set her jaw as she braced for a fight. She squinted at the screen, eager to see what his next move was as he stopped in front of the compound entrance. He pulled something from behind him, stepped forward, and, placing it on the heavy steel door, stepped back. Recognizing the detonator he held in his hand, she had no time to respond, as the empty hallways boomed with an echoing explosion. She instinctually ducked and pulled her arms up to cover her head and neck, as dust fell from the old ceiling of the jarred room.

"Alright, mother fucker," she spat, standing up out of the chair. "Come and get me."


	4. Chapter 4

Sept 2012

"Because I said so, that's why."

"That's logic, right there," Allison agreed, sarcastically.

"Both of you shut your holes and get back to work," Rumlow snapped. "Fury wants these reports on his desk by zero-800 this morning. I don't give a shit who's taking the blame, but someone has to fall on this grenade and it ain't gonna be me."

"Way to lead from the front, Boss," Mickelson smirked.

"Hey," Brock bit, quickly moving to stand in front of Eric and pointing a finger in his face. "Listen here, smartass. You almost killed your teammate tonight. Don't forget it. ...That's a 33 million dollar prototype you crashed into the Atlantic. How 'bout we take it outta your check for the rest of your life?"

"Easy, Boss," Allison soothed. "It'll be on your desk for review by oh-600."

Rumlow turned his head to look at her. He exhaled heavily, his nostrils flaring. He looked back at Mickelson and slowly withdrew his hand from his face. "Both of you, quit fuckin' around and get back to work."

"Yes, Sir," the less senior operators answered in unison.

Rumlow left the briefing room, slamming the door shut behind him. Both operators let out a laughing sigh of relief at apparently having just cheated death for the second time that night. Allison pulled out a chair at one of the tables and sat down, with a tired smile, as Eric rubbed a hand along the back of his neck.

"We're fucked," he said, with a guilty smile.

"No," Allison disagreed. " _You're_ fucked. You ditched three klicks short of the carrier. I'm just an unwitting victim to your shitty flying."

"It wasn't my fault," Mickelson protested, plaintively. "The fucking intake-"

"I know, I know," she interrupted, holding up a hand to stop him. "It was a mechanical failure. You did the best you could and I, for one, am happy we're still alive to bitch about it. ...But you _were_ in the pilot's seat."

"Fuck you, Al," he said with a defeated smirk.

She stood up from her seat and hooked an arm into his, pulling him to the door. "Come on. We got homework to do."

As promised, by 6 a.m., Allison was knocking on the door of Rumlow's office. His voice called out from inside that the door was open. She stepped into the doorway, a file folder in hand, and halted to stand at attention on seeing Alexander Pierce seated in one of the chairs in front of Rumlow's desk. Both men looked up at her when she entered.

"My apologies, Cmdr. Rumlow, Mr. Secretary," she began. "Sir, I have the report and statements for the JX-9 crash for your review."

Rumlow waved her in and Pierce stood, tugging down the waist coat of his suit. He smiled politely, as she stepped forward to the desk. "Lt. Addams," he greeted her, with a pleasant smile. "I understand you were on board the JX-9 at the time. Not injured, I hope."

"I'm fine, Sir," she nodded, turning to face him after Rumlow accepted the folder over his desk to read. "Thank you."

"Good," he nodded. "Well, I'll leave you two to business."

"Sir," Rumlow nodded, as his goodbye.

"Mr. Secretary," Allison added.

Rumlow tipped his eyes up from the open folder on his desk to see the door shut. Allison turned on her heel to face Brock, waiting to see if the paperwork was acceptable. He stood up, walking around the side of the desk and stepping in to stand toe to toe with her. They locked eyes for a moment before he cupped his hands to her face and tipped his forehead to hers.

"Jesus Christ, Addy," he sighed, quietly, the relieved worry underlining his words. He tilted his chin up to kiss her quickly and pulled her into his chest, arms wrapped tight across her shoulders. "I did not enjoy getting woken up this way, hearing Angels sent to pull you out 'a the water. I want you checked out by our guys before you go."

"I'm okay," she promised, hugging him back. "They already did everything on the helicarrier. Just a little sore."

Brock pressed a kiss into her neck. "I swear to god, that fuck mook is never getting his hands on another one 'a my planes again."

She couldn't help a snigger. "It wasn't his fault," she told him. "He tried. Talk to Boeing about building a better engine."

"Eh, he's always been a shit pilot," he grumbled. "He ditched too soon...But, whatever." He straightened up to look at her. "You're still here."

"I'm still here," she confirmed, with a smile. "My boots are a little soggy still, but..." She shrugged.

"Go home. Get some sleep," he told her. "You're on leave til the crash is cleared. I'll come by later, okay? I'll bring dinner." She nodded and he gave her another squeeze, kissing her forehead. "I love ya, baby. I'm glad you're okay."

Feb 2015

She hooked her arm into the sling of her rifle and took a knee, crouching behind the edge of the control console. The room blacked out, she switched on the night vision monocle and it gave a small whine as the lens warmed up to shade the view of the room in front of her left eye in greens and black. The door was open, waiting for him to make the mistake to enter. He would be there soon. The slow, gentle footfall of his methodical search of the hallway barely audible to track, she steadied her breathing and slid the pad of her index finger to rest on the trigger. 

_Come on. Show me you're face._

The footsteps slowed and stopped. There was nothing in the doorway ahead- no noise, no body. She waited, breathing slow and measured. She didn't have to wait long. The muzzle break of a rifle flagged in the doorway as the man swung across the opening from the far side of the hall to sweep the room from outside. She pulled the trigger, the shot cracking through the silence and punching a cloud of dust free from the wall as the bullet missed the side of his head by a fraction. _Damn_ , he was quick.

There was silence again. No foot fall from the hallway, the last noise the building heard was her spent brass casing rattling for a moment on the hard concrete floor. His hat from the video was missing, but she didn't get a good look when he crossed the lens of her night vision. She still had no idea who she was dealing with. Her ears pricked, hearing the tiny metal clink of a pin being pulled. A canister rolled into the room and she leaned back on her heel behind the console, grabbing at the gas mask pouch on her thigh and holding the mask over her face, as the smoke hissed from the grenade. She knocked her night vision to the ground and held her breath, settling the mask on her face. She tightened the straps and checked the seal. She took up her rifle again, flipping on the scope's night vision and scanning the room back to the doorway. 

 _Clear_.

The tear gas expelled from the grenade, there was quiet again. The corner of the gas mask pressed uncomfortably into her face as she winked into the rifle scope, waiting for the air to thin and her view to sharpen. Several tense minutes passed and there was still nothing from the hall. She held her breath, straining to listen for anything. He obviously wasn't dead, she just didn't know what his next move was. 

"Comfortable?"

She didn't recognize the voice, but the arrogant question sparked her own cockiness and she couldn't help the smirk that crossed her lips. Whoever he was, she was amused by his sense of humor in the situation.

"I can do this all day, bub," she answered. 

There was a pause. 

"What's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?"

"I bet you say that to all the ladies," she quipped. "Why don't you throw down your weapon and we can talk about it."

"No, thanks. ...Why don't you throw down your weapon and I won't kill you?"

She smiled to herself. "I hope _you're_ comfortable, 'cause it's gonna be a long night."

The pause was longer this time. Several more minutes passed.

"Still there, sweetheart?"

She shook her head to herself. "Show me your pretty little head and find out."

"Well, this is getting us nowhere. ...How 'bout a name? That way I know where to send the flowers."

"Too late, buddy," she told him. "I'm already dead."

She popped off a round into the doorway, splintering wood from the door frame into the hall. She heard the scuff of shoes inching away.

"That wasn't very nice."

"My bad," she said, an air of innocence in the sarcastic apology.

"I'm sure."

Another long silence passed.

"Hail HYDRA?"

"Seriously?" she scoffed. "Try it with a little feeling."

"Look, this is getting a little old. I'm gonna be the gentleman here and I'm gonna show you my rifle." 

A hand appeared slowly across the open doorway, clutching a rifle by the barrel.

"Now, I'm gonna step out...and you're _not_ gonna shoot me in the head. And we're going to figure this out and kill each other like adults, okay?"

She didn't respond. Instead, she coiled on her knee, waiting to see if he'd show himself. Slowly, the gun and hand shifted in the door and an arm followed. Inch by inch, the man came into view until the right half of his body was exposed in the door. His eye searched the dark room while she waited.

"That's far enough," she told him, the crosshairs of her scope settled on his right eye. "Put the weapon on the ground and step back."

She saw him smirk. He leaned forward at the waist, bending his arm to stand the rifle against the doorway. As he straightened back up, his hand quickly found the light switch and the room lit up. The sudden brightness sent both their eyes fluttering to adjust. In the next instant, he had stepped into the room and she had stood up.

A pistol pushed forward in his left hand and her rifle lined to his face, they locked eyes down the sights of the guns.

"This is better, isn't it?"

"Not for you," she pointed out. "I don't see any body armor."

He sneered arrogantly.

"Drop it," she ordered, "or I'll drop you."

The intensity in each other's eyes told them neither would lower their weapon. They stood there in a standoff, each waiting for the other to flinch. Only, no one did and neither had an advantage.

She broke her gaze away to size him up and that's when she saw. The silver band running between the end of his coat sleeve to his glove. Her eyes snapped back to the face under the long hair and her eyes went wide with the realization.

 _Fuck me_.

He read the recognition in her face. His lips tightened and his finger began to pull the trigger.

"Sputnik!"

June 2014

The air was dry and warm. White, whispy clouds stretched over the blue sky and the wind was gentle. It was a nice day to have a funeral.

Sitting below an old, leafy oak, she watched from the hillside, gazing through the high powered lenses of her binoculars 300 yards to the open plot below. It was a pretty good turn out, maybe 100 people or so. She expected less. Since the fall of SHIELD, she figured people would distance themselves from the agency in public. But to her surprise, almost half of the gathered crowd was related to her former employer. The flag draped coffin was a nice touch. At least they hadn't publicly pegged her as a HYDRA sympathizer.

Even if her father had tried to be a regular feature in her life after her parents' divorce when she was 8, she and her dad had had a falling out several years ago over his alcoholism and the estate left after her mother's death from cancer. He wasn't necessarily interested in or proud of her service with the Army or recruitment by SHIELD, anyway. It was a little surprising to see him actually mourning losing her. They hadn't spoken in years.

There wasn't much to her mom's side of the family. A pair of her mother's cousins were there and, from what she could see, most of her dad's side. Her civilian friends mixed in through the gathering of mourners, there were a several STRIKE team members from Alpha and Bravo Teams, a few from Charlie, plenty of intelligence division suits, and some support area acquaintances. It seemed that, ghost or not, SHIELD still offered her a family.

The flag was folded by the honor guard, as a 21 gun salute cracked through the sky. The flag was passed to her father with a few words from a uniformed soldier, no doubt grateful for her service, etcetera. A bugler played Taps from the edge of the service. 

"Man, that song always gets me," she muttered to herself. 

She stood up, dusting off the back of her pants. She surveyed the scene one more time and she finally felt a pang of regret and disappointment. For as far down the road as she could imagine, she would never see these people again. For now, it was best for everyone to think her dead. 

"Goodbye, Allison Addams," she said, blowing a fond kiss toward her empty casket. She turned away, looking up to the sky as she walked. "Hm. Nice day for a funeral."

Feb 2015

Centered on the main monitor on the wall, her unexpected visitor was coming to in his cell. Checking the time on her watch, he'd been out for almost nine hours. Pushing the chair back from the console, she stood and grabbed his backpack from the floor beside her. Down the hall, she flicked on the recording equipment in the observation room before moving into the cell.

The metal door shut with a loud clank, as the locks dropped into place behind her. From the corner of the room, she dragged a metal chair across the floor to sit a safe distance in front of her guest. She dropped the backpack to the ground beside the chair and took a seat. Leaning forward, her elbows to her knees, she waited for him to focus again.

The prisoner sat reclined at a slight angle in a restraint chair. Legs and arms shackled in place by metal pneumatically controlled clamps. When she had first found the interrogation room, she was stumped as to the purpose of such restraints. Now she understood. It was meant for him.

His head lolled to the front and she heard him inhale deeply through his nose. His eyes tipped up to find hers and they stared at each other for a long minute in silence. She let out a bored exhale and turned down to grab his bag. She unzipped the top of the backpack and poured the contents out across the floor at her feet. She tossed the empty pack aside and moved a few items around with the gloved index finger of her right hand. 

Picking up a black leather wallet, she held it up in the fingertips of her left hand for him to see before she opened it. "No driver's license. No ID, credit cards, business cards, or pictures. Just cash," she inventoried out loud before dropping the wallet to the floor. Looking down over the things on the floor she went on. "I took the liberty of securing your rifle and that Glock and knives you had on you. No personal effects. Extra ammunition, a lil bit of good ol' Comp C left, a Gerber Mark II- nice, by the way. Good choice...a little water, food, clothing...You pack light."

He managed to pick his head up, watching her like a lion on prey. She stared back for a minute, before sweeping his things to the side with the edge of her boot. She settled back over her knees and folded her hands.

"How did I get in here?" he asked, sounding a little groggy.

"Aw, come on," she pouted. "A little 'sweet nothings' and you were putty in my hands."

He glared menacingly at her, as if he were suddenly aware of what might have happened.

"I'm going to ask you some questions now," she informed him. "It'd make this go a lot smoother if you answered the first time I ask."

He sneered at her, his head tilting back for him to look down his nose at her. "What are you gonna do, sweetheart? Beat it outta me?"

Her eyebrows arched up to say it was already an option. She unfolded her gloved hands and flicked the middle finger of her left hand into the hard knuckle cover of her right and repeated the demonstration in reverse. "If that's the way you wanna play it," she offered.

He chuckled softly. 

"Who are you?" she asked first.

He didn't reply.

"What are you doing here?"

He stared, defiantly silent.

"How do you know about this place?"

Nothing still.

"Who do you work for?"

She waited for the answers she didn't expect to come. She waited a few minutes before standing up. Without a word, she turned and went to the door. She tapped an access badge to the reader and pulled the door open when the mechanical locks released. She turned back to face him before stepping through the door.

"Take some time to think about how you want to answer those questions," she told him.

The door locked down behind her, she moved into the observation room to keep an eye on him. He seemed to give her a few minutes to see if she'd return. When she didn't, he struggled to free himself. Flexing and pulling at the restraints, he worked for several minutes without any progress. He relaxed again, resting back into his chair and letting his head fall back to the headrest. Eventually he closed his eyes and after two inactive hours, she left the room to return to the command center.


	5. Chapter 5

May 2014

She slipped into her apartment using the fire escape and forcing the lock on a window. Inside, she went straight to her bedroom. There was a bench built in to the bay window overlooking the street. She raised the hinged seat to access the storage inside. Unpacking the extra linens and miscellaneous clutter, she dug in a fingernail to pull up a false bottom and reveal a biometric locked safe in the floor. Pressing her thumb over the scanner, the safe lid popped open and she emptied it of the passports and money it hid. There was an unregistered Glock 9mm in a case in the bottom of the safe, with two boxes of ammunition, which she set out beside her. She secured the safe, replaced the storage, and went to the closet.

On the floor in the back corner was a pre-packed "go bag". She pulled out the backpack and went back to the window area, stashing the money and fake ID's in the bag. Loading the gun, she slipped it into a holster between the small of her back and the waist of her jeans. She packed the extra ammunition and gun case before shouldering her backpack and heading back to the living room. Picking up the bags from Rumlow's apartment, she added the tablet and files to her nearly full pack and took the rest of the items to her room. She quickly put them away in drawers as if the items had been there all along. Her soiled uniform pants and shirt she kept in their bag. She would drop them in a public trash can when she was out of the city.

Taking one last look around the apartment, she frowned. She had nowhere to go, no plan, and no one she could trust. The only thing she was sure of was that she had to figure out what had happened at the Triskelion. She grabbed a water bottle from the fridge and locked the apartment door behind her.

Headed out the front door of her building, she lurched to a stop on the building's front steps. Screeching to a halt in the middle of the roadway in front of her apartment was a black SHIELD SUV. The passenger door behind the driver's opened and a worse for wear looking Eric Mickelson stepped out, eyes locked on Allison. Her hand drifted to the small of her back carefully as the front passenger door opened and one of the Delta Team agents stood perimeter watch on the street with an ACR carbine in hand. Mickelson waved her over.

"Al, come on," he called. "We gotta go."

She hesitated for a split second before continuing down the steps. She didn't know who to trust and it turned her stomach to be so overwhelmingly suspicious of her friends and teammates now. She took a few wary steps to the curb, as she checked the street up and down to see if anyone else was coming.

"Jesus, Addams," Eric groaned. "Get in the damned car."

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"SHIELD's fallen," he told her, as if she didn't know. "We need to regroup."

"Where are we going?" she asked, moving slowly toward the SUV.

"I'll brief you in the car," he assured her. "Protocol. Right now, we need to go."

"What protocol?" she questioned, sliding across the back seat as the agents fell back into the car. "Who's in charge?"

"That's what we gotta figure out," he said, slamming his door shut and hitting the back of the driver's seat to signal him to go. "All I know for sure is our directive is to get you and anyone else still alive from Delta and Echo to the safe house with us and wait for orders. That's from the commander himself."

 _Jesus_. Was Rumlow still alive? Is Mickelson HYDRA? She didn't let the emotions or questions show in her expression. Instead, she thanked him for picking her up and gave him a bullshit line about coming back to her place for supplies to head out of town until things cooled off in DC. He told her they were headed to a safe house in Virginia to meet with other agents who survived the attack on the HQ. Nothing he said gave him away as a friend or enemy.

She settled back into the seat, trying to relax and knowing she needed rest for whatever she was walking in to. At least now she had her next play. Take the ride to the safe house, assess her fellow agents' loyalties, and respond appropriately. She closed her eyes and told Mickelson to wake her when they got there.

Feb 2015

Sitting cross legged on the table of the observation room, she sipped a cup of instant coffee, courtesy of her morning MRE. She watched her prisoner, asleep in his chair and occasionally snoring softly. Sliding off the edge of the table, she tucked an extra MRE and a bottle of water under her arm. Grabbing her coffee, she entered the cell and gave the door a little assist of the sole of her boot to close even louder than usual to rouse her guest.

She dropped off the food and drink on a table along the wall. Allison perched on the edge of the metal chair in the middle of the room, hands cupping her coffee as he glared at her. "Good morning, sunshine," she sing songed. "Sleep well?"

"Piss off," he sneered.

She sipped her coffee, unnecessarily loudly. "Mm," she hummed. "That's nice."

He cracked his neck from side to side and sat up as much as he could in his restraints. "You're all heart, ain't ya?"

She wasted no more time on pleasantries. Leaning back into the chair, she picked up from the night before. "Who are you?"

Nothing.

"What are you doing here?"

Silence.

"How do you know about this place?"

A hard stare.

"Who do you work for?"

He scoffed.

She sat up in her seat and leaned over to set her mug down on the floor. Straightening up again, she reached a hand to her back pocket and pulled out her sap gloves. She laid them out on display across one knee. He caught the sight and a small smirk lifted one side of his mouth.

"I'm a fair person," she told him. "I believe in giving chances. I know, it's early. You just woke up, haven't had your coffee. So, I'll give you one more...Who are you?"

"You tell me," he challenged.

She gave him a jut of her chin. "The Fist of HYDRA. You're their Asset- a ghost and you don't exist. A long time ago, the Russians called you The Boogeyman. Now, everyone calls you The Winter Soldier."

He appeared to bristle at the collection of names she had for him and he leveled an icy glare at her. She noted the clenching of his fists and the sinew of his jaw pulling. It was an unexpected reaction. She quirked up an eyebrow.

"Am I wrong?" she asked. "Or are you just not comfortable with someone knowing who you are? Probably don't tell a lot of people you're an assassin and a terrorist, huh?"

"That's not my name," he hissed angrily. "I don't do that anymore."

"Of course not," she nodded in jest. She rested her hand over the gloves, drumming her fingers lazily on the hard knuckles as he watched her hand move. For a split second, she thought she saw a hint of nervousness on his face. "What are you doing here?"

"Go fuck yourself," he told her, his eyes flicking back up to hers.

She breathed out heavily and planted both hands on her knees to push herself up out of the chair, almost disappointed. _Why do they never just answer the damned questions?_ Grabbing hold of her gloves, she pulled them on and secured them snuggly at her wrists. Pulling the black quarter-zip fleece she wore over her compression tee, she dropped the shirt on the chair and swung her arms open and across her chest to stretch and yawn. Stepping forward to his chair, she folded her fingers between themselves to tighten the feel of the gloves and looked down at him.

"It's too early for this shit," she complained, "but if you're gonna be a bitch about it, I'll oblige you."

He presented his chin to her. "Sweetheart," he began, with a smile, "there's nothin' you can do to me they haven't done before."

She raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "I like a challenge," she told him. "I'm sure I'll come up with something."

"And here I thought we were friends," he said, tilting his head to the side and throwing her a charming smile.

"You missed your chance. Sorry," she told him, giving him a mocking pout, before drawing back and sending a punch across his jaw that threw his head to the side.

He turned his head back to face her, a small tear in the corner of his lower lip and the smile still on his face. "Well well," he mused. "Not bad, darling."

She cocked her head to say he shouldn't be surprised. "How do you know about this place?"

He just smiled. She delivered another right cross with the same jarring effect. He squared his face go her's again.

"Who do you work for?"

His smile turned to smirk and he raised his chin slightly to give her a better target. She took the offer and drilled him in the side of his face again. He licked at his bleeding lip and spit down at the floor, before turning back to her. His cheek was red and beginning to swell, the steel lined knuckles of her gloves doing their job, but he still played on with the tough guy routine.

"You better get some more coffee," he suggested. "It's gonna be a long day, sweetheart."

She nodded, subtle and small, and with a wicked smirk. "I'm not your sweetheart."

She drew back and threw a hard cross before taking a step away. His legs splayed open by the restraints, she raised her right foot to rest briefly between his legs, as she un-holstered a knife from its sheath on her boot. She flipped the knife in her palm to point the blade along her index finger. Putting her foot back on the floor, she leaned in to press the tip of the blade into his neck at his carotid artery.

"Well," he said, low and seductive, ticking up a brow over bedroom eyes, "if we're gonna get dirty, at least gimme your name."

She studied his face and scoffed at his arrogance. It was admirable and she had to admit she enjoyed the banter after all the weeks alone in the bunker. A playful smile spread across her lips and she nodded to herself. She withdrew the knife, letting it scrape lightly down his throat before retracting her hand. She turned on her heel and went to the table. Raising her boot to the table edge, she returned her knife to its home and took up the packaged meal and water.

Moving around to the control panel behind him, she released the restraints on his right arm. He didn't move. Coming forward again, she passed by him beyond striking distance and tossed the MRE into his lap. She twisted open and then tightened the cap of the water before throwing it his way. He reached up to catch the bottle with his free hand. Turning to leave, she paused at the door and pointed up to the cameras in the room.

"Don't be fuckin' around in here," she warned him.

"Whatever you say, sweetheart," he smirked, with an obviously sarcastic attempt to pull his left arm free of the restraint.

"My name is Bellamy," she told him.

Feb 2011

"In front of you, you will find an envelope containing four new identities," Rumlow advised, from the briefing room podium. "Passports, driver's licenses, SSN's, birth certificates, the works. Learn them by heart. They are your new Non-Official Covers. You will use them on recon deployments, etcetera. They will also get you home if you fuck up and end up with your tail between your legs at a US embassy. I won't tell you where that example comes from but, rest assured, that mook is no longer with the agency."

They took the rare opportunity to chuckle with Rumlow's smug smile. Unsealing their envelopes, the newest Echo Team members inspected their new credentials. There were four bundles, packaged in clear plastic bags, one for each identity. Allison sifted through them as Rumlow continued on about their new assignment.

Alicia Miller, from Tucson, Arizona; Emily Cavanaugh, from Seattle, Washington; Kate Bellamy, from Sarasota, Florida; and Michelle Sharpe, from Peoria, Illinois.

"Learn those lives," Rumlow insisted. "Know everything about them- what street they grew up on, what their mother's maiden name is, the name of their first goldfish. It may save your life one day."

Feb 2015

Elbowing the cell door shut behind her, Allison eyed the assassin in the chair. She crossed the room to the narrow table along the wall. She picked up the small table and moved it to sit in front of her chair. At some point in the day, her prisoner had discarded the large plastic bag from his MRE to the floor. It was stuffed with the trash from the meal. Passing by the side of his chair, she kicked it away from him, with her hand on her pistol in case he tried anything. The silent man didn't budge, the only thing moving was his eyes as he watched her pick up the bag of empty wrappers and take it to the table.

Allison dumped out the trash on the table, scooting it around with a pen from her a slim pocket on the arm of her pullover. She inventoried the items against the list of items she knew in her head were included with every prepackaged meal and shook her head when she noticed something missing. She turned to her subject in the chair and raised an eyebrow as if to say "Really?". She sat down, with a disappointed frown.

"Alright," she huffed out, already not in the mood for games. She held out a hand, flicking two fingers back and forth, gesturing for him to give up what he was hiding. "Let's have it."

"Have what?" he asked, feigning innocence.

She rolled her eyes. Allison angled herself to kick her boots up diagonally to the table and crossed her ankles. She drew the pistol from the holster on her thigh and pointed it at the thief, resting the magazine floor plate on the table's edge in her hand for convenience.

"The matches, numb nuts," she clarified. "What are you gonna do? Set yourself on fire?"

He smile was his confession and he reached his free hand into the pocket of his jeans. He held the matchbook up for her to see and flicked it at her. The matches found the table and she slapped her free hand over them to stop them sliding off and falling to the floor. With one hand, she folded back the book cover and checked that all the matches were still there. Finding nothing amiss, she dropped the matchbook onto the table and returned her weapon to its holster.

"Ready to talk?" she asked, folding her arms across her chest and wiggling her shoulders against the chair back to get comfortable.

"Why do dames wanna talk all the time?" he mused, with a sarcastic tone that mocked his discerning gaze.

She pointed a finger briefly, gesturing to her face as a mirror to his. "Your face looks a little swollen on the one side there," she noted. "Want me to even that out for you?"

He snorted. "Aren't you thoughtful?"

Allison shrugged. "Doesn't hurt to ask, before we get started."

"Do your worst," he invited her.

Tucking her hands under her folded arms for warmth in the chilly compound, she studied him for a minute. She squinted, thinking as her eyes moved over him and the restraints of his chair. Her head bobbed slightly in a silent, but contemplative, nod and she looked around the room, her eyes noting the utility sink in the far corner. Running her tongue along the inside of her lips for a moment, she made a tick with her mouth and turned to look at him again.

"I've got something else in mind, today," she told him, with a hint of enthusiasm. "Been a long couple 'a days, skulking around outside yesterday, hanging out in here. Probably haven't had a shower lately."

His eyes tracked her as she stood up. She picked up the short garbage can by the door and went to the sink. She opened up the cold water faucet and let the water run. Sticking her hand under the tap, she tested the temperature. It was as cold as she expected it to be in the unheated building. She casually flicked the water off her hand and ran it down the front of her pant leg to dry. She filled the garbage can full of a few gallons of water and shut off the faucet.

"Opening with water boarding?" he mused. "Maybe a little drowning simulation?"

"Not exactly...It's about 46, 47 degrees in here," she informed him.

His face said he knew what she was getting ready to do and he smirked. "Aw, c'mon. Not even a little foreplay?"

"Not freezing, but still pretty chilly," she went on. "You a fan of the cold?"

"I'm more of a summer or fall, actually," he quipped.

She hoisted up the heavy can of water and moved it to the table between her chair and his. His lips pulled into a disapproving frown and his head cocked to the side. Allison pulled off her warm, outer shirt and tossed it onto her chair to keep it dry. She leaned against the table and rested one arm on the lip of the can.

"Are you familiar with hypothermia?" she asked, before waving her hand to say he didn't need to answer. "Rhetorical question, really. See, when the body's core temperature hits, or drops below, 95 degrees, the nervous system reacts to try and keep you warm- shivering, high blood pressure, increased heart rate and respiration. Then-...Well, I'm sure you know how it all goes downhill from there." She stood up, dipping a finger into the icy water. "The point is-"

"I know the point," he interrupted. "You know, that could kill me."

"I know," she agreed. "But, before it did, you might answer my questions. Either way, you've cooperated or died and aren't a problem anymore."

"That's a little dark for SHIELD, isn't it, Agent Bellamy?" he asked.

"Am I SHIELD?" she asked, raising her brow in question.

"Are you HYDRA?"

"Maybe I'm neither," she suggested.

"I've never seen you before," he admitted. "The way you work, I'm sure I would have by now. You must be SHIELD."

"There is no SHIELD anymore," she said, coolly.

"Then why bother?"

"Because, no matter who there is or isn't, I believe one person, in the right place, at the right time, with the right skills, could be more effective than an army," she answered.

They stared at each other for a long moment. He nodded slowly, as his eyes looked her up and down.

"I'm not your enemy," he told her.

"Since when?" Allison asked. "Since you've been target hopping and assaulting HYDRA bases? Since you assassinated Director Fury? Since you killed and injured hundreds of SHIELD agents and destroyed the Insight carriers?

"I did those things," he admitted. "But that's not who I am. Not anymore."

"What are you doing here?"

"I came to find HYDRA," he told her, his gaze holding hers.

"How do you know about this place?"

"I've been here before," he said.

"Who do you work for?"

"No one," he answered, firmly.

Allison had the answers to her questions. She nodded once and turned to go, leaving the garbage can of water on the table for him to keep considering.


	6. Chapter 6

Feb 2012

Sgt. Addams checked her watch and wiped the sweat off her temple, with the back of her wrist. She was going to miss dinner. Even if she hadn't just gotten the intelligence on a plot to attack the Shanghai Metro system ahead of a summit on nuclear proliferation, she was in a dusty warehouse office in a shithole city in the Arabian Desert too small to show up on a map. Reservations were at 7:30 back home and even pushing the Quinjet at Mach 2 the whole ride wouldn't get her and the squad back until 10:30 at best. After load out and debriefing, she'd be home to shower, optimistically, well after midnight. She frowned behind her mask, irratated the deprivations, force, and stress positions hadn't worked sooner.

Adjusting the black half mask a little higher again on the bridge of her nose, she gestured for the other masked operators of her fire team near the prisoner to let him to the ground and remove the chains holding his arms wide. She looked at Mickelson on the other side of the room and tapped a finger on the face of her watch before she raised her middle finger to say her night was ruined. She couldn't see the smile behind his mask, but the shake of his shoulders was enough to show his amusement at her situation. She waved a hand, calling a trio of Jordanian flagged soldiers to come forward and collect the prisoner. 

The STRIKE Team members gathered on one side of the large room and watched silently as a soldier cuffed the prisoner from behind and sat him up on his heels. A second soldier pulled a black bag over the man's head and Allison tugged at the chin of her mask to finally free her face. She breathed out an annoyed sigh, as the others followed suit and unmasked. The soldiers pulled the man up on his shaky legs and escorted him out to a waiting vehicle. The agents followed behind.

Outside, Allison shielded her eyes from the glaring sun with a raised hand until her eyes adjusted. It had been dark when they entered the building with the bomb maker four days ago. She found her sunglasses in one of the cargo pockets of her black uniform pants and slipped them on as the Jordanian SUV drove away. Eric gave her a push in the shoulder, from behind.

"So much for Valentine's Day," he quiped.

"Better luck next year, huh?" she smiled, following the others to the pair of older model, white Mercedes SUVs to drive back to the airfield.

"I've said that before," he smiled, "and look where I am now."

"The wife gonna be mad?" she asked.

"She's used to it," he shrugged. "What about your guy? What's he do?"

"Investment banker," she lied. 

"So, he still thinks you're a flight attendant?" he asked, sliding into the seat beside her as she laughed. "Good cover, though."

"Hey," she shrugged. "How perfect is blaming a cancelled flight for missing plans, right?"

It was a good cover. Spycraft 101 was probably never meant to be used against your teammates to throw them off the scent of your dating the boss, but it was definitely working. She slept most of the flight back to the US, stretched out on the hard metal deck of the Quinjet with a backpack under her head for a pillow. Her key was turning in the front door of her apartment by 1 a.m. The apartment looked dark from the street, but the small lamp on the table in the foyer was left on to welcome her home and she grinned at the gesture. 

Setting her gear down by the door, she threw the deadbolt and walked softly into the kitchen. She opened the refrigerator for a bottle of water and grabbed a box of left over lo mein from the shelf. Leaning against the counter, she ate from the container in between yawns. Over the bar wall of the kitchen, she spotted a large bouquet of red roses in a vase on the dining room table and she smiled again.

Finishing her cold Chinese dinner, Allison went to the door to turn off the lamp. She unzipped and took off her boots to carry to the bedroom, using the light from outside to make her way. She tiptoed through her room to grab a change of clothes and went to the bathroom to shower. Hair wet and wearing a commandeered t-shirt Brock had left behind one night, she crept into bed quietly. It was after 1:30.

On the other half of the bed, Brock stirred. Rolling onto his back, he rubbed his thumb and forefinger in the corners of his eyes. Allison settled under the covers with a tired sigh, as her achy body relaxed into the softness of the bed. The Quinjet floor had nothing on her pillow top mattress.

"Left the light on for ya," Rumlow said, his voice low and a little raspy from sleep. "Some asshole got your flowers, too."

"I saw," she said. "Thanks."

"D'ya get it?" he asked, before a yawn.

"We got it," she nodded.

"That's my girl."

He turned his head on the pillow to see her. Lit by the soft glow of the moonlight and lamp post outside, Allison stared at the ceiling vacantly, looking spent. Brock frowned and opened his arm to her. She looked over, with heavy eyes.

"What?" she asked.

"Don't fuckin' 'what' me," he told her. "Get your ass over here."

She grinned, sleepily. Inching over, she rolled on her side, draping an arm across his chest and a leg over his, with a tired moan. He folded his arm around her shoulder, flexing to push her head close enough for his lips to touch her. His other hand rested on her bent knee and he pressed a long kiss into the top of her head. 

"Gone for nine days and you're gonna 'what' me," he grumbled, sarcastically, his lips still touching her hair. "You missed dinner."

"I'm sorry," she told him. "I tried."

"I know," he said, through a sleepy smile. "Nature of the beast. We'll try again tomorrow."

He turned on his shoulder, rolling over to face her. His hand slid along her thigh to find the small of her back under his former t-shirt and pulled her to him tightly. She nestled under the curve of his throat and hooked her leg behind his knees, lining her other leg along his so there wasn't a piece of them not touching. Rumlow turned his face down to kiss her head again and she sighed an exhausted, but contented, sigh.

Feb 2015

It had been 32 hours since she took The Winter Soldier into custody. Most of the time, she watched from the monitors of the command center. When she first found the facility, she had drug in a mattress from one of the bunks and stashed a supply of food, water, and gear to hold out for several days in the room if necessary. Sitting on the mattress, back propped up against the front of the control console, and staring up at the wall of monitors was possibly the laziest way to keep watch, but it was surprisingly comfortable. She slept in short bursts, thirty minutes here and there when he appeared to sleep and then checking the tape on high speed playback to be sure she didn't miss anything. 

She breathed in and out in a heavy sigh, watching him look around the room for the millionth time in the last day and a half. She squeezed a line of cheese spread from a pouch onto a thick cracker and took a bite, a snack left over from her packaged dinner last night, debating what to do with him. On the mattress beside her, she thumbed open one of the folders she had taken from Rumlow's townhouse. Looking down at the service photo of James Buchanan Barnes, she thought about his saying he didn't work for HYDRA anymore and wondered how much of the HYDRA programming remained.

When she had searched the tablet she'd taken from the safe, she had access to a wealth of information on Barnes, a.k.a. The Winter Soldier. Medical and surgical records, psychological assessments, some indoctrination and reprogramming techniques, interrogation transcripts, mission reports and dossiers- she practically had his whole "career" in the last 70-odd years. She also found out Brock Rumlow had been one of the handlers for The Asset from spring 2000 to mid 2010, the same year he took over as Commander of the STRIKE division. From what she could gather, Rumlow also appeared to have trained with or under the assassin for a period of several months in 1999. 

Finishing her processed cheese snack, she dusted off her hands and gathered up the folders to move to the chair at the console. With a few keystrokes, she brought up the recordings of her last interaction with her prisoner. With a few clicks, one monitor displayed a real time comparison of the biometric lie detection programs beside the monitor of the interview. She played the session forward, intently watching the physiological measurements calibrating, adjusting, and calculating as he spoke- thermal analysis of body temperature, respiration, pupil dilation, eye movement, and other measured physical cues and voice analysis. He hadn't been lying to her when he finally answered her questions.

Back in the room with the soldier, she set the pile of folders and Brock's tablet on the table. She took the garbage can of cold water that she'd left from the day before and sat it on the floor beside the table.

"Good morning," she told him.

He cocked up his brow. "Is it?"

"That depends on you," she said, rather flatly.

"Of course, it does," he nodded, with a smirk.

"You said you came here looking for HYDRA," she said. "What were you looking for exactly?"

It was quiet for a moment, before he answered. "I've been looking for anyone who worked for them," he told her. 

"For what purpose?" she asked.

"Interrogation to develop intelligence. To kill them," he answered, bluntly.

"How many HYDRA personnel have you killed?"

"I haven't kept track," he said, nonchalantly.

"What was the purpose of your interrogations?" she pressed on.

"Intel," he told her. "Target acquisition, supply pipelines, facility locations."

She glanced at the tablet on the table. Linked to the lie detection equipment, it showed no deception. Allison studied him critically for a minute. She was trained to beat any lie detector she had been put against. It wasn't unreasonable to expect him to be as skilled. After all, his training was exceptional and he would have had a lot of practice over the years. She pulled the biographical folder on him from the stack and flung it to him. He caught the folder against his chest with his free hand and opened it in his lap as she spoke.

"So, what is this? The Sergeant's revenge mission?"

He paged through the folder for a silent minute, before he looked back up at her. "You might say that," he suggested then paused, closing the folder. "So, you know everything about me. Who are you supposed to be?"

"I'm asking the questions," she reminded him. "What was the reason for coming here?"

"Nostalgia," he quipped, turning his palms up to reference the room. 

"You've got a pretty warped sense of sentimentality then," she noted.

"Hey," he shrugged. "Whatever gets ya by. Why are you here, _Agent_ Bellamy, is it? We never really decided yesterday."

"That's my business," she said, coolly.

He scoffed. "What business does a female SHIELD agent have alone in a HYDRA safe house?"

"Any port in a storm," she said, duplicating his gesture to the room.

"How did _you_ get here?" he asked.

He wasn't going anywhere and she saw no harm in sharing a little, if not vague, non-personal info. "Found this place on a map, thought I'd see if anyone was home."

"And?" he lead on.

"I staked this place out for two weeks before putting a toe within a klick of the door," she explained. "No one came or went, undergrowth hadn't been disturbed for a long time. Came in and found the burn barrels full of ash. There was no one here. It’s a dead site and now it’s mine."

He gave a mildly impressed nod. "How long ago did they abandon the site?"

"About eight months ago according to the surveillence system," she said.

"Well, that's disappointing," he said. "Why don't you let me outta here? Let me run through whatever intel they left here and I'll move on."

Allison laughed, leaning back in her chair and stretching her feet out to cross under the table. "That's funny," she dryly said. "Nice try, but how do I know you won't just try to kill me once I let you out of there?"

"I promise?" he suggested.

She smiled again. "Sorry, but this is the real world," she told him. "We both know you can probably beat a lie detector as easily as I can. I have no reason to trust anything you say and I sure as hell don't have any reason to trust The Winter Soldier."

He picked up the folder in his lap, holding it up for her to see before he tossed it back to her. "That's not my name," he insisted. 

"Who are you supposed to be then?" she asked, quirking up a curious eyebrow.

"My name is James Buchanan Barnes," he told her. "If you're really SHIELD, I have no fight with you."

"If I'm really SHIELD _or_ HYDRA, you murdered dozens of my colleagues," she reminded him. "I'm sure you can appreciate how little your last sentence means to me."

He gave a self-depreciating smile and nod. "Fair enough," he agreed. "I'm sorry for what happened to your friends, but I'm on my own now. I don't work for HYDRA anymore."

She absorbed what he said for a moment. "How is that possible?" she asked. She pointed a finger down into the files on the table. "I've seen your training, your programming. How could anyone believe, after decades of doing HYDRA's bidding, that you, all of a sudden, just changed your mind?"

"I didn't just change my mind," he said, sounding a little annoyed. "It was changed for me. I remember now."

Allison thought on the reports and assessments about the memory wipes and reprogramming failing to control The Asset at all times. After a long pause, she told him, "I'd like to believe you. It's a good story."

"It's not a story," he insisted.

"Okay," she shrugged, with a tip of her head. "Let's suppose it isn't. What's in it for me?"

"What do you want?" he offered. 

"Intel," she answered, simply. "Tell me everything you know about HYDRA- who's involved, where to find them."

"So what's this? The Agent's revenge mission?" he smirked.

"Something like that," she said, with little expression.

He eyed her up and down, assessing her. "I think maybe we can help each other," he suggested.

"What makes you think I need your help?"

"I'm not saying you do," he told her. "I'm just suggesting maybe I know what you want to know and you know what I want."

She straightened up in her seat and folded her arms on the table. "I want to know where to find Brock Rumlow," she admitted.

His head tilted and his eyes leveled suspiciously. "So do I."


	7. Chapter 7

Oct 2011

She let herself in when there wasn't an answer at the door. Putting down her keys and phone on the table in the hallway, she heard the shower running upstairs. Taking a quick look into the living room and down the hall, she headed upstairs. She called out a 'hello' to announce herself and Brock's voice called from upstairs that he was in the bathroom.

Entering the bedroom, she saw the adjoining bathroom door open and she caught sight of Rumlow in the mirror. His boots kicked into the middle of the bedroom, he still wore his black uniform pants and t-shirt with the subdued SHIELD logo on the shoulder. He stood leaned into the mirror over the sink, pushing and picking at his forehead, when he saw her in the reflection.

"Gimme a hand, will ya, Addy?" he asked, straightening up and taking a step back from the sink.

She stepped into the bathroom and saw a series of small cuts over his right eyebrow, bleeding from how he was working the skin. Dirt mixed with dried blood was smeared down most of his right arm and the right side of his black shirt was shaded even darker from a large blood stain. Allison frowned at him when she saw and he grinned back, a little sheepish.

"Tough day at the office, dear?" she asked, trying not to let her smile show her disapproval and mild concern.

"Shud up and help me get this outta my fuckin' face," he smiled, pointing to the cuts on his brow. "There's a sliver of something they missed in there and it's drivin' me nuts."

"What happened?" she asked, gesturing for him to sit down on the lid of the toilet as she found a pair of tweezers in the medicine cabinet and dipped them in peroxide to clean them.

She stepped over to him, turning with face into the light with a gentle lift of his chin with her fingertips. She eyed the wound while he told her about the mission with Delta Team and the Captain when "this asshole drops a goddamn frag down the stairwell." She went in with the tweezers, while he winced and hissed. She pulled out a thin piece of wood, splintered off of something in the explosion.

"Cowardly mother fucker," he griped about the target who tried to get the better of them.

Holding out a piece of gauze for him to press to his bleeding forehead, Allison pointed at his shirt. "What's that?"

Brock stood up, literally peeling off his shirt as the dried blood stuck the material to his skin. He looked down at a square of gauze taped over his ribs and below his armpit. He grabbed a corner and pulled the tape carefully away to reveal a tear held closed by a half dozen or so steri strips and peppered with small shrapnel marks around it.

"Just a scratch," he said, casually.

"Yeah," she agreed, sarcastically. "I can see that."

"Lemme rinse all this off real quick and we can get dinner," he told her. "I'm starving."

He stripped down, leaving his bloodied clothes on the floor as he stepped into the steaming shower. Allison scooped up the clothes and dropped them in the laundry hamper. Through the unfogged bottom of the shower door, she saw the blood and dirt run down his calves and swirl in the water around his feet. She shook her head. In any other home, the sight would be alarming, but to them it was a Tuesday.

"Hey," she said, leaning against the edge of the sink behind her and folding her arms.

"Yeah," he answered, over the sound of the water.

"You think this is still a good idea?" she asked.

"Is what a good idea?"

"You and me," she clarified. "Trading keys, leaving things. Letting things get this serious."

"No," he laughed. "It's a fuckin' terrible idea. And I want that shirt back. Don't think you're sleeping in that forever."

"I'm serious," she told him.

"So am I," he assured her. "It's probably the dumbest thing I've ever done."

She smirked and nodded to herself. "I agree. I mean, no offense, but it's pretty risky," she noted. "I worked hard to get where I am and fraternizing with the-"

"I know," he interrupted, his voice sympathetic. "But you gotta believe me, if anything came up, I'd take care of it. They wouldn't take anything out on you."

"That's a pretty big promise you're making," she noted. "You may not have that kind of clout."

"Trust me, Addy," he told her. "You got nothin' to worry about."

"I'd like to," she began, "but you understand why I worry."

"Yeah," he agreed, shutting the water off and opening the shower door to grab a towel. "I get it."

He stepped out of the shower, holding the towel around his waist. The cut she had dug the shrapnel out of on his brow was still bleeding. She tore open a fresh gauze pad and folded it in half to press to his forehead for him. After a few moments, he put his fingers over hers to keep the pressure, telling her 'thanks' when she let go. He edged past her to look at the cut in the mirror, dabbing the gauze to clean up the thin run of blood.

Satisfied the cut was clotting, he tossed the gauze into the garbage and tucked the towel in at his waist, smiling at her, thoughtfully and warm. "You're too good for me, Addy," he told her.

"That's probably true," she figured out loud. "But you're not as bad as you want people to think."

"I don't know about that," he smirked. "But I like that you think that about me."

She laughed and he moved in close, putting his hands on her hips and drawing her to him. She wrapped on arm around his neck and the fingers of her left hand traced the skin around some thin scratches on his right arm. His gaze followed hers down to his arm and he shrugged when she shook her head disapprovingly again. He slid his arms low around her waist, gently kissing and nibbling at the side of her neck.

"I love you, Addy," he said for the first time, his lips touching the words to her skin. "I won't let anything happen to you. I promise."

Feb 2015

Allison stepped into the cell. She left the door open behind her and she noticed it hold his gaze for several seconds before he shifted his eyes to watch her. Stopping at the table, she studied him for a long minute, debating if she was making the right decision. Walking past him, she saw him look over his shoulder to follow her to the control panel behind him. She typed in a series of commands, her finger hesitating a moment before executing them.

With a single, doubtful shake of her head, she pressed the enter key on the console. Over her shoulder, the pneumatic restraints on the chair opened. In the same instant, she drew her pistol and pointed it at her prisoner's head. She sidestepped a wide path around the chair, keeping him in her sights as she moved around to stand by the table again. He sat still in the chair, the only movement was his arms relaxing into his lap as he watched her, waiting.

"This is an interesting turn of events," he noted after a moment of silence.

"The situation has changed," she told him.

She gestured with a flick of her gun barrel for him to stand. He moved slowly, his muscles aching as they stretched long again to stand. She skirted around the table, clearing a path for him to the doorway. She inclined her head toward the exit and he hesitated.

"Taking me out back to put me down like an old dog?" he asked.

"Only one way to find out," she suggested.

He trudged forward, his legs finding their memory a little better with each step. She followed a safe distance behind, calling lefts and rights to guide him through the halls. She led them to a small living quarters that would have belonged at one point to a senior officer of HYDRA. All the furniture except for the mattress, pillow, linens, and a chair had been removed. There was a stripped bare bathroom without a door and a pile of towels and clean clothes from the previous tenants on the mattress. He looked the room over, turning around and stopping to face her where she stood in the doorway.

"This is your room," she told him. "The door will be secured from the outside. There's fresh clothes and towels and hot water in the taps."

"Well, it ain't The Plaza," he shrugged. "What if I want room service?"

Allison pulled a radio from the back of her belt and tossed it to him. "Use channel 1 if you need something," she advised. "No repeater, local only. Use it too much and don't expect an answer."

He tipped the radio antennae to his forehead in a mocking salute. "Got it," he winked.

"I'll be back with food later," she told him.

She backed away to go and he called after her. "Agent Bellamy…why the change of heart?"

"I don't have a heart to change," she said, flatly. "This is strategy."

July 2011

She wasn't surprised there were no real personal effects in the Director's office. Maybe it was more disappointment that there was little to look at while she waited. With her hands folded casually behind her back, she stood admiring the view from the office. The office door handle turned and clicked open and she snapped to attention, eyes fixed ahead out over the Potomac.

"At ease, Spc. Addams," Director Fury casually ordered. "At ease."

She moved to parade rest and turned her head to see the Director walking to his desk and Cmdr. Rumlow following behind after shutting the door. Fury pushed his chair back to stand in its place and dropped a pile of folders on his desk. Rumlow moved to the front of the desk, angling himself off the corner to see both her and the Director. She acknowledged him with a nod he didn't respond to.

"Spc. Addams, I must say," Fury began, "I am impressed by what I see. I'll admit, at first, a lot of people didn't know if you would last this long. It's a tough pack you run with, a lot of history, a lot of big egos. But you've surprised us all."

"Thank you, Sir," she said, humbly.

"Your name was submitted for consideration for the Medal of Valor," he informed her. He held up two fingers. "Twice. ...It only takes one nomination to open the discussion, usually from your CO. But you? You got one from your squad _and_  Cmdr. Rumlow."

She didn't know. In fact, she had no idea why she had been called to the Director's office when she and her squad were out of rotation. 2nd Squad was on deck and she had planned on taking the day to visit with friends in Annapolis before she got the call to be at the Triskelion at 1000 hours. She glanced at Rumlow, standing as cool and unreadable as ever. She was surprised  at the mention that he had recommended her for an award, let alone such a prestigious one.

"The Committee and I reviewed the report and statements for what happened in Gaborone," Fury went on. "You and 1st Squad were assisting Botswana Defense Forces with 'aggressive negotiations' for the release of the passengers and crew of an Air Botswana flight taken hostage by a Somali militant group. You and your team were setting up to support BDF as they tried to board the plane when one of the BDF soldiers took fire from the hostage takers and lay injured on the tarmac while his soldiers were pinned down. Your fire team took an offensive position to assist the BDF while you not only coordinated the assault on the plane by Fire Team Alpha, but you ran into enemy fire to recover the injured BDF soldier and carry him back to cover _after_ you took a shot in the hip. Now, how the _hell_ did you manage to do that?"

"It wasn't a direct hit. The bullet fragged when it struck the drop rig of my gear, Sir," she explained. "I had the best vantage and was the closest. Just in the right place at the right time."

"I should say you were," the Director agreed, pressing a button on the phone on his desk. "The Committee and I concur; your actions during The Gaborone Incident meet all the criteria to be awarded SHIELD's Medal of Valor."

The office door opened and the Director's secretary appeared with a SHIELD ID badged man with a camera. The secretary handed a small hinged box to Fury and stepped back with a broad smile to Allison. The Director came around his desk and Allison turned to meet him when he stopped in front of her. He opened the box in his hand to show her. Inside was a silver, five-point star hanging from a navy blue ribbon with a thin white stripe running down its middle. Beneath the star lay a gold ring, set shallower than the points of the star which themselves were set in front of a pair of gold laurel leaves rising around the edges of the lower points.

The man with the camera snapped a few pictures as Fury presented the award to Allison. She smiled, with humility, as the Director shook her hand. They posed together with Fury on her right, holding the medal between them, and Rumlow on her left. The photographer thanked the spies and left the room with the secretary. Allison admired the medal for a moment before handing it back to Fury, knowing she couldn't keep it. Awards for meritous acts were secured in a vault during the agent's career and only released at their retirement or death, operational security and all. He closed the box with the hint of shared disappointment on his otherwise stoic face, as he handed it off to Rumlow.

"Cmdr. Rumlow will take care of this," Fury told her. "Congratulations again, Spc. Addams. Keep up the good work."

"Thank you, Sir," she smiled, shaking his hand again.

"Now, if you'll excuse me," he said. "I'm late for a meeting with the World Security Council."

Fury nodded his goodbyes to the pair of operators, leaving them in his office. Allison stood by, returning to parade rest and waiting to be dismissed. Rumlow opened the lid of the box halfway, just enough to see inside for a moment before closing it again. He held the box by its end in the fingertips of his right hand for her to see and tapped the end into his other palm.

"Nobody will ever know about this," he told her, giving a quick study to the box in his hand. "People will never see our names in the paper or thank us for keeping them safe from the monsters in the dark. These things get locked up in the vault with the rest of our secrets. ...But we don't do it for the glory. And we sure as hell don't do it for the pay." He smirked and she felt permitted to do the same. "But _we_ know who we are and what we do. We're soldiers, warriors. We're a family. We'll always know." He showed her the box again. "Helluva job, Addams. Helluva job."

"Thank you, Sir," she nodded, making sure to catalogue the memory of the first time the Commander gave her a compliment.

"You're being given a new assignment," he said. "As you know, Lt. Ford has stepped down in anticipation of his retirement. You're in charge of Fire Team Bravo, effective immediately, with an accompanying promotion to Sergeant. Sgt. Emery and I will assist you in acclimating to the role as needed. Your duties will commence when 1st Squad comes back into rotation on Monday."

"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir."

"The boys know," he told her. "Echo and a bunch of the off duty guys from the other teams are gonna be at Barny's tonight. They expect you there at 1830."

"Yes, Sir," she smiled.

"You're dismissed," he said, the hint of a proud smile at the corner of his mouth and tipping his head for her to go.


	8. Chapter 8

Feb 2015

It was a little easier to fall asleep. She wasn't alone anymore. Sleeping down the hall was a fellow soldier, one of the world's finest. It didn't matter that she was still hesitant to trust him. The bit of relaxation came from knowing in the weeks she'd held the compound, the only person to have found her was one of the best assassins in the world and it was only by accident that he had. And she knew how to keep him from causing her any trouble.

In the morning, she showered quickly, as usual. She took her breakfast in the kitchen, sheltered behind steel and watching the door. On the counter beside her gun was a handheld radio. It was on overnight, but hadn't been used yet. She didn't expect it to be, but she thought it wise they be able to communicate in case he were aware of something happening in the building before she was. With her breakfast done and garbage cleared, she grabbed a second MRE and bottle of water for her new roommate.

She knocked on his door once, with a heavy hand to be heard. There wasn't an answer. She set his packaged meal and drink on the floor beside the doorway. Drawing her pistol from the holster on her thigh, she opened the locks on the door. She listened for a moment, hearing nothing, before turning the handle and pulling the door open wide. She gripped the weapon close to her chest in a high compressed ready position, able to come on target fast or maintain retention. Her eyes scanned the room quickly, finding him sitting on his mattress on the floor with his back against the wall and hands hanging over the tops of bent knees.

"You should probably switch to decaf," he recommended.

She holstered her pistol and relaxed her posture. Picking up the MRE and water from the floor, she tossed them to him one at a time. He caught the items with ease and flipped the meal in his hand to read the menu on the outer bag.

"A meal without a heater pack?" he noted. "Still afraid I'll burn the house down?"

With a minor roll of her eyes, she pushed the door closed and reset the locks. She repeated the delivery for lunch and dinner. Knock-check-meal-water-leave. At lunch he had asked her to give his compliments to the chef. At dinner he asked if she was going to speak today.

"What do you think this is?" she answered his question with her own. "Some little game? Spy versus spy?"

"Just trying to make the best," he shrugged. "Just because you act like you know what you're doing doesn't mean you have to be a bitch."

"The room may have changed but I'm still in control," she reminded him.

"Control?" he smirked. "Of me? Because I haven't tried to kill you lately, or escape?"

"Because I know the one word that reduces you a useless pile of shit," she pointed out.

A glare came to his face. "How do you know that?"

"It's in your files," she told him.

"And these files," he suspiciously began, "where did you get them?"

Allison thought for a moment on the answer. "From Brock Rumlow."

He bristled at the name. "He gave them to you?"

"I took them."

"What else did those files tell you?" he asked.

"Everything," she said, bluntly.

He nodded to himself. Allison noted the anger in his expression. She couldn't tell if it was because she knew his secrets and his fail safe trigger or was it was about the fact that the files and he even existed the way they did at all. She settled on it being a bit of both.

"I read them a few times," she told him and he gave her a distrusting glance from the side of his eye. "Have you considered that if I could find out your trigger, how many others might know?" He nodded once and she went on. "The word is a program. It may be deeply imbedded, but it might be something to be taken out."

"You some kinda brain surgeon or somethin'?" he scoffed, incredulously.

"No," she told him, leaning a shoulder into the doorway. "But it makes sense."

"And how do you suppose that would work?" he asked.

"The way they put it in probably wouldn't work," she admitted. "It was time consuming and the tech isn't here. But maybe your body could be conditioned to not respond or respond differently." He seemed to be considering it as well. "For example, the trigger is given and some kind of external stimuli is given to revive you instead of waiting for it to wear off on its own."

He watched her for a long moment, assessing her. "What did you have in mind?"

Sep 2011

The door was unlocked and, following the sound of Bob Dylan and the smell of garlic in the air, she made her way back to the kitchen. Peeking in the doorway from the hall, she smiled at seeing Brock at the stove. Sensing or hearing her somehow over the music, she wasn’t sure which, he turned over his shoulder and smiled warmly when he saw her. He tipped his head, inviting her in. He wiped his hands on the dish towel tossed over his shoulder and picked up the remote for the sound dock on top of the refrigerator, turning the volume of "The Times They Are a-Changin'" down a bit. She leaned into the corner of the counter and watched him mince some onion.

“When you said come over for dinner, I didn’t expect this,” she told him.

A smug smile pulled up one corner of his mouth and he snorted as he sprinkled parsley flakes into a stainless steel pot on the stove.

"Snaps necks, makes sauce. Quite a resumé, sir," she noted, with an impressed pout.

He warned her with the sauce stained end of a wooden spoon pointed in her direction. "Alright, smart ass," he smirked. "My mother's side- all Italian. This is my great grandmother's recipe, straight from the old country. Best sauce you'll ever taste in your life, guaranteed."

"Smells great," she told him, hopping up to perch on the edge of the sink.

He snapped the towel from his shoulder playfully at her shins when she ignored the point of his finger to get down from the counter. She swiped a piece of celery off the cutting board to eat when he turned back to the stove. He heard the crunch of her pilfered snack and stepped over to stand in front of her. He balled up the towel and put it aside on the counter. He leaned down, scooping her over his shoulder as she let out a small yelp. He walked her to the kitchen doorway, set her down, and pointed with the whole length of his arm toward the living room.

"Out," he told her, firmly but with a smile.

"You're not the boss of me," she challenged, loudly over her shoulder as she headed for the other room. "Not off the clock, anyway."

"The hell I'm not," he called after her. "Don't come in here on the third date and start being sassy. My kitchen, my rules."

"I'm gonna rifle through your things," she lightheartedly threatened from the living room.

"It'll probably be less of a mess after you do," he suggested.

"Where do you keep the pictures of your old girlfriends?" Allison yelled back down the hall.

"Ha!" he called back. "That's classified. Level 9."

An authentic Italian, home cooked meal and bottle of red later, they sat on the couch, angled toward each other in conversation, sipping the last of the wine in their glasses, and laughing about the time Rollins took a piece of shrapnel in the ass in Bogota. They laughed so hard, Allison wiped at a tear in the corner of her eye. Even if Rollins had died, it still would have been a hilarious story.

"Don't ever tell him I'm the one who told you," Brock said, holding up a finger so she understood he meant it.

"Scout's honor," she promised before finishing her drink. "I've been meaning to ask you something."

"Shoot," he told her, lazily swirling the last of the wine in his glass.

"How the hell did we get here?" she asked, disbelievingly. "I mean, like, nine months ago you're telling me you'll have me making sandwiches and now you invite me here to make me dinner."

He smiled and nodded thoughtfully. "I was a bit of a dick," he admitted.

"A bit?" she repeated, with a critical squint of one eye.

"To be fair, I'm a dick ta everyone," he noted, in his defense. "I don't know. I told you, you had to impress me and you did. You're very good at what you do. I may have underestimated you."

"May have?"

"Just a little," he winked and finished his drink. "It don't hurt that you got an ass that won't quit either. I mean, holy Jesus Christ."

Her shoulders dropped a bit as she shook her head and laughed, still new to hearing him flirt and a little embarrassed by the compliment. He flashed her a disarming smile and chuckled along.

"This is such a bad idea," she told him.

"What? Fraternizing?" he asked, emphasizing the word with a mischievous, low tone.

Maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was that ripped body and handsome face with the devilishly charming smile. Whatever it was, it made her reach forward and take the empty glass from his hand hanging off the arm rest. He turned his head to watch her put it aside on the end table before she climbed into his lap, legs straddling him and her palms resting on his sides, her lips a fraction from his. She paused there a moment, their eyes locked on each other's and sharing a breath. Hesitation and doubt passed when Brock slipped a hand along the side of her neck and pulled her lips to his.

It was such a bad idea.

March 2015

"How do you feel?"

Barnes shook his head clear, his eyes half lidded and slowly coming to focus. "How long was I out?"

"7 hours, 8 minutes, 27 seconds," she read from her watch. She sat back in her chair. "Practically no effect. I think we're going to have to start thinking differently."

He pushed up from the bed, swinging his feet to the floor and leaning his head down into his hands. "Try something else," he told her, tiredly.

"That's enough for today," she told him, standing to get a bottle of water from off the desk to hand him.

"There has to be something," he insisted with a tinge of aggravation. "Audible, physical- nothing's working."

"We'll find it," she said, leaning a shoulder into the wall near the foot of the bed.

"It has to be soon," he told her. "The longer this takes, the colder the leads go."

"Yeah, well, it won't matter if you go out there again and any ol' asshole can still drop you with a word," she reminded him.

"It's been two weeks," he pointed out.

"Not exactly my field of expertise," she dryly said, her own aggravation at the situation, and him, beginning to show. "There's no telling how long it'll take or even if this'll work."

"Try again," he said before a long drink of water.

"No," she said, flatly.

"Why?" he growled.

"That's enough for today," she told him again, pushing off from the wall and moving to the door. "It's late, I'm hungry, and you're turning into a shit."

He sighed and took another drink. "I'm sorry," he grumbled. "You're trying. I know."

April 2012

"Yours or mine?" Brock asked as Allison rolled away from him.

"Mhnm, I don't know," she groaned, coming around as one of the phones on the nightstand rang.

From the middle of the bed, he rose up on his elbows, looking left then right to find the source of the noise. "Your side," he told her, falling back into the pillow.

She moaned, tired and frustrated. Allison rolled over, reaching uncoordinatedly to the pair of phones by the bed. She squinted one eye open to read the caller ID in the brightness of the glowing screen, putting aside the inactive phone on the nightstand again. Her left hand fell into his chest, holding the offending phone out for him.

"Yours," she informed him through a yawn.

He fumbled his hand over hers to take the phone as it stopped ringing. Brock unlocked the screen and was inspecting the recent call log when the phone began to ring again. "For the love of God," he muttered, before accepting the call. "Yeah. What is it?"

Allison rolled over, sliding a leg comfortably over his and a hand across his chest to pull herself up to him. She nuzzled her cheek on his shoulder, looking up through sleepy eyes at him as he listened to whoever was on the other end of the late night call. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders to give her a soft squeeze and bent his head over to rest on top of hers.

"Where? ...How old is the intel? ...Vetted? ...How many?"

She rolled her eyes and groaned softly, seeing the direction of the call would be taking him out of bed shortly. He sighed quietly as the call went on and took his arm from her to run his hand through his hair and scratch at his forehead. She looked back up at him and frowned. He glanced down at her when she pulled his arm back to her and, with a wink, flicked a finger into her arm, playfully. Allison returned the favor with a stifled giggle. He silently shh'd her, folded the sheets aside, and gave her knee a gentle push to cue her to move. Swinging his feet to the floor, he sat up on the side of the bed.

"Get it over to Cryptology to verify. ...What's our window? ...Variables?"

She was awake now and feeling a little put out. Allison pushed herself up on the mattress and crawled to sit behind him. She sat on her heels, her knees splayed to his hips and fingers to his shoulders. While he went on, listening and asking, she rubbed deep circles into the base of his neck with her thumbs and pressed herself to his back. Rumlow gave her a disapproving smack on the knee and she stopped.

"Likelihood to reacquire the target? ...Start pulling satellite images for the last 24 hours."

Undeterred, she slipped her arms under his. She rested her palms on the tops of his thighs and lightly scratched her fingernails back. She trailed soft, open mouth kisses across his shoulders, rising up to line herself along his back to nibble and suck his earlobe. He pulled his head away, turning over his shoulder to scowl at her and pointing to the phone in his other hand.

"Reach out to our assets in the area. I want eyes on the target in less than three hours. I'll be in in 20."

Allison pulled her hands up, one arm draping over his shoulder to wrap along his chest and the other resting across his chiseled abs. She hugged her body to his, dotting small kisses down the back of his neck.

"Make that 30."

Rumlow hung up the phone, tossing it aside to the foot of the bed. He twisted, pulling out of her embrace and turning himself to face her. "You think you're cute, don'tcha?" he asked, cocking up an eyebrow and leaning forward to guide her down to the mattress beneath him.

"I do," she nodded, with a mischievous smile.

He rested his elbows into the mattress above her shoulders, bending his head down to kiss and suck at her throat. Her hands made their way around his waist and he bucked his hips against her once to tease. "A tip from some local asshole says Nicolas Pisani is in Tunisia," he explained, mumbling the briefing between slow kisses across the tops of her breasts peeking out from her camisole. "Probably be gone a couple to three days, if it's true."

"Good thing you've got a few minutes before you go," she smiled.


	9. Chapter 9

April 2015

"Where'd you go?" he asked.

Barnes met her at the entrance to the compound. He'd been sitting in the late morning sunlight, taking in the fresh air. He got to his feet, lazily. Crunching softly through the undergrowth, Allison slipped the backpack off her shoulders and tossed it to him when she was close enough. She had left the bunker hours before sunrise, unlocking his room and leaving a meal outside as she went.

"Shopping," she told him.

Opening the bag, he reached inside and pulled out a fist full of small glass bottles. "I think you mean 'stealing'," he corrected with a sly smile and she shrugged innocently. "Where'd you get this?"

"Veterinary clinic across town," she said, pulling open the door to the bunker.

"That's a helluva hike," he noted, rummaging through the bag.

"I borrowed a car for part of the trip, if it makes you feel any better," she suggested.

"You mean 'stole'?" he asked, looking up from the backpack.

Allison shrugged innocently. "Potato, patato."

"Not really," he told her.

"If you're gonna nitpick everything," she began, pointing a finger at him, "I'll take back the breakfast sandwich I brought for you."

He dug through the bag and found the sandwich. "You mean 'pilfered'?"

"Purchased," she sneered, flipping him off before going inside.

Behind her, Allison heard the bunker door shut and lock. She glanced over her shoulder to see him eating the half-unwrapped sandwich as he walked to catch up with her. He followed her back into the infirmary, dropping the backpack on a desk as she sat down heavily into the chair. She propped her feet up on the desk edge, crossing her feet at the ankles and sighing as she closed her eyes to relax for a minute, palm resting on the gun she had in the small of her back. Leaning against the wall, Barnes ate away at his breakfast treat.

"You wanna wait?" he offered. "Rest for a bit?"

She opened up her eyes again and dropped her feet to the floor. "No," she half groaned.

Scooting the chair up to the desk, she pulled the backpack open and spread her haul out in front of her. Several bottles of epinephrine, a box of sterile needles, miscellaneous medical supplies, and a pack of watermelon flavored gum. She unwrapped a stick of gum for herself and slipped the package into her pocket. She twirled the bottles of liquid medicine on the desktop to see through the labels and find the one that had already been partially used at the clinic, pushing the others aside to save for later. She tipped her head to send him to lie down, as he wadded up the paper wrapper from his sandwich and chewed the last bite.

"Okay," she huffed out, watching him move to the infirmary bed. "The trigger essentially puts you into a deep sleep cycle. So, with that you'll have variations with respiration, heart rate, suppressed muscle activity, whatever. In theory, increased blood pressure, heart rate, perfusion pressure, et cetera _might_ revive you or, at least, lessen the amount of time you're under the influence of the trigger. _If_ we can find the right dosage and your heart doesn't just explode."

"Could that happen?" Barnes asked, pulling his shirt up and stopping with it over his head and his arms stuck up in the air.

"What part about me using the words 'explode' and 'whatever' makes you think I'm a doctor or even remotely qualified to be guessing doses and pushing drugs like this?" she asked, her tone emphasizing the absurdity of the situation.

"I see your point," he warily agreed. "You sounded pretty convincing though, at the start."

He laid down on the bed in the small treatment room of the infirmary and she attached electrodes to monitor his heart rate as she spoke.

"When you go under," she began, "I'll wait a few minutes to be sure you've settled in before I give the injection. We'll start with a low dose first." She saw him swallow and thought he seemed a bit anxious. "You alright with this?"

He gave a small nod. "Yeah," he said. "What could possibly go wrong? I mean, besides tachycardia and a fatal arrhythmia, of course."

She smiled sympathetically. "Don't worry," she told him. "I'll keep the defibrillator handy."

"Very reassuring," he quipped, sarcastically.

He turned his eyes up to the ceiling, taking a few deep and calming breathes. Beside him, Allison turned on the heart monitor and watched the rhythm begin to jag across the screen. She went back to the desk, taking a fresh needle and drawing out a dose of epinephrine to try. She made a quick note of the volume of the dosage on a pad of paper on the desk before returning to her seat beside him.

Eyeing the needle in her hand, he asked, "What if it doesn't work?"

"We'll try again," she shrugged.

"And if it doesn't then?"

"We'll try something else," she assured him.

"I have to ask," he told her. "Why are you helping me?"

"Means to an end," she told him. "You can help me, but for you to do that, I need to be sure you don't fall out when I need you."

"All business, all the time," he snorted softly. Barnes looked up at her. "What's your name?"

"Bellamy," she told him.

"No," he said. "What's your real name?"

She blinked at the question and he waited for a response. It wasn't a trick question that should stump her. It was that the question reminded her who she wasn't anymore, who she couldn't be. She was Allison Addams. But Allison Addams was dead. The Kate Bellamy persona was a figment of someone's imagination that Rumlow had told her could save her life one day. She just hadn't expected it would have to become her life.

"Kate," she said, finally and a little softer than she'd spoken before.

"Huh," he mused, quietly, the first name basis seeming to help calm his nerves a bit. "You don't look like a 'Kate'...My friends used to call me Bucky."

She nodded. "I know."

"Well," he said, taking in a deep breath and nestling his head back into the pillow. "Try not to kill me, Kate."

Sep 2011

“Cmdr. Rumlow,” she called clearly for his attention, as she crossed the gym floor. “Sorry for the interruption, Sir, but I have the report back from Forensics.”

He threw one last punch, the blow driving the 200 pound punching bag back in a violent jolt and sending sweat flying off his arm. His breath panting, he turned to face her. An almost imperceptible smile twitched quickly on her lips to say hello and he acknowledged her with a jut of his chin.

He bit at the lacing of one glove, shaking it loose on his hand and pinching it under his arm to pull it off. He undid the lace on his other wrist and paired the empty gloves together in one hand. She followed him to the row of bleachers along the wall where he dropped his gloves into a duffle bag and grabbed a towel. Rumlow dragged the towel down his face with a heavy exhale and wiped down his chest and arms. He hung the towel over his shoulder and held his hand out to take the tablet from her.

Allison tapped the device to life and accessed the report, before turning the tablet around to him. As he skimmed the report, she stood by at a casual parade rest and looked around the gym. It was late, the sun was almost set, and the operators who had been working out in the STRIKE gym were preparing to go home. She nodded a goodbye to a couple of guys she knew from Charlie Team as they waved and left. After a few minutes, the last of the operators had gone.

Rumlow’s eyes flicked up from the report for a moment, when he heard the gym door shut, and scanned around the room. “You read this yet?” he asked, turning his gaze back to the tablet and wiping at his temple with the corner of his towel.

“No, Sir,” she shook her head. “Not yet. It came directly to you first. I’ll forward it on with your approval.”

He looked up at her. “You can knock it off with that ‘Sir’ shit,” he told her, gesturing around the gym with a lazy point of his finger. “It’s just you and me.”

“I think I’d rather keep things professional when we’re at the office,” she said.

Brock nodded, with a thoughtful shrug. “Fair enough. I guess I have slightly lower expectations when we’re in private around here,” he said.

She smiled and it brought a smile to him. “Honestly, I’ve always stayed away from relationships with coworkers,” she admitted.

“Me too,” he agreed, and then grinned. “See? Already so much in common.”

She tittered quietly and he handed her back the tablet. "Move this up the chain," he instructed. "Have Capt. Rogers and Delta ready for briefing at zero-700 tomorrow."

He wiped the towel down his face and neck and she caught his eyes catch hers briefly admiring the naked sinew of his arms and chest as he moved. A cocky, lopsided smile tugged up a corner of his mouth.

“You sure you wanna keep it strictly professional at the office?” he teased, with a raised eyebrow.

She nodded, with a sheepish grin. “Yes, Sir,” she said. “That’s probably best.”

He took a step closer, the distance between them short enough now to get, at the very least, a questioning look if anyone else were around to see. His eyes went up and down her and she felt a soft heat come to her cheeks from the attention. She held the tablet in her arms folded across her chest. He gave her a playful smile.

“I’ll respect that,” he nodded. “But I gotta draw the line at you calling me 'Sir' and calling you 'Sgt. Addams’, when no one’s around.”

She laughed. “Everyone calls me Ally,” she told him. “Some of the guys just go with Al.”

He frowned and wrinkled his brow for a moment. “That won’t do,” he shook his head.

“Why’s that?” she asked.

“You’re not with everybody else now,” he told her. “I don’t see an 'Ally’. And I sure as hell don’t see an 'Al’.”

She was curious. “Who do you see?”

Brock considered it for a moment. “Addy,” he said, finally, confidently.

She was instantly charmed by the name. Her smile beamed with the small flutter that came to her stomach. It was endearing that no one but him had called her that before and she liked the sound of it on his voice. She doubted anyone else would ever think to say that name and she’d be okay with that, figuring no one else would make it sound so good.

April 2015

Sitting in the briefing room of the bunker, Allison was slouched comfortably into one of the leather office chairs with her boots crossed up on the tabletop. Angled down the table to keep the doorway in her periphery, she swiped through the pages of files on the tablet she had taken from Rumlow's townhouse. Earbuds plugged into the tablet, with her ear closest to the door open, Stevie Ray Vaughan's "Little Wing" strummed and plucked softly from one of Brock's playlists. She was a glutton for punishing her heart.

She absentmindedly tapped her index finger on the back of the tablet propped up in her lap and nodded along. As smooth as water, she drew the pistol from the rig on her thigh and folded her right arm across her stomach to point the weapon at the door, cocking the hammer back slowly with her thumb for emphasis. She finished reading the last few words of the paragraph she was working on, before lolling her head to the entrance of the room. Giving Barnes a rather bored and unamused look for a moment, she went back to her work and left the weapon pointed at him in the doorway.

"You have issues, Kate," he told her, leaning a shoulder into the door and folding his arms over his chest. "You know that?"

"Action packed," she agreed, glibly.

"It's been, like, six weeks now," he noted. "Don't you think if I were going to kill you, I'd have done it by now?"

"No," she said, her lips pouting in thought and head shaking while her eyes were fixed to her screen. "They don't call it the 'element of surprise' for nothing."

"You're a little dark, aren't ya?" he smirked.

De-cocking the gun, Allison slipped the pistol back into its holster. "Don't try sneaking up on people and they won't point guns at you."

"Paranoid as fuck. That's what you are" he muttered, stepping into the room and falling into one of the chairs at the row of tables in front of her. "What are you reading?"

"Logistics reports," she answered her gaze still on the tablet. "Looking for an address, coordinates, patterns, inventories, routes. Anything I didn't see before."

"Find anything new yet?" he asked, kicking his boots up onto the corner of her table.

"No," she sighed. She let the tablet fall flat in her lap and, with a tap of the pause button, pulled the earbud from her ear.

"What are you listening to?" he asked, his brow creased with curiosity.

"Stevie Ray Vaughan," she announced through a yawn and long stretch.

"Stevie Ray Vau- He's got mus- Are you listening to his music?" he finally managed, the curiosity turning to suspicion and a hint of disgust.

She leveled her eyes in annoyance at him and locked the tablet. "What's the big deal?"

"Taking the 'get to know your enemy' thing a bit seriously aren't we?" he jabbed. His expression softened a bit and he chuckled quietly. "Christ, Kate. You are a sick puppy."

"Go fuck yourself," she told him, with an irritated jut of her chin.

He scoffed at her indignance. "Whatever," he said, dismissively. "If you're done with your stalking, you ready to try again? It's been two days."

"You're an arrogant little shit, aren't you?" she noted, letting her feet fall to the floor, as she gathered up her things to stand.

"So I hear," he shrugged, rising to follow her out of the room to the infirmary.

Walking into the room, Allison put her things on the desk and Barnes stripped off his shirt. They had been working for weeks, taking a couple days break in between tests, trying to find a dosage of epinephrine that would possibly stimulate his nervous system and counteract the effects of the trigger word. He laid down on the bed, fluffing the pillow under his head while she moved to the counter nearby and drew a syringe of manmade adrenalin. She noted the dosage on her makeshift log and took a seat on her stool to hook him up to the monitors.

"I'm going a little higher this time," she advised him.

He responded with a nod, still clearly uncomfortable by the ongoing experiment. "At least it's working," he mumbled.

"You're staying under less and less," she reminded him. "We'll find the dose and maybe we can condition your body to reject the trigger in times of stress when your adrenalin is already up."

"Yeah," he snorted. "Then I'll only have to worry about it when I'm not on edge, which is, like, most of the time."

She smirked back. "I'm hoping we can get you to a point where your body's response to the word is a rise in adrenalin instead of a loss of consciousness."

"That'd be handy," he smirked back.

"Ready?"

"Yeah."

"Sputnik."


	10. Chapter 10

June 2013

Fourteen civilians, including women and children, died because Echo was ordered out of Cali. Assisting Columbian security forces disrupt FARC operations with simultaneous raids meant to capture senior leadership at multiple locations, the mission went sideways when Allison's fire team, and their security forces counterparts, found themselves on the shit end of bad intelligence. Stumbling into a bomb makers lab instead of the alleged downtown front for one of the guerrilla generals and with twice as many suspects than there should have been, the fire fight that ensued claimed 5 of the 12 man security forces squad and injured one Echo operator. In a last ditch effort to escape or take out as many SHIELD agents and security forces soldiers they could, a car bomb was detonated on the street and a small device was set off on the second floor of the building.

In the chaos that followed, Allison's fire team gave chase to a pair of FARC combatants who fled to the streets. Allison and Mick splintered off from the rest of the squad as the suspects split up. SHIELD ordered Fire Team Bravo to terminate the pursuit, deeming it too dangerous to continue operating in the heavily populated civilian area. It was Rumlow's voice over the comms that ordered them to stop. His voice that commanded her, twice, to lower her weapon and link up with Fire Team Alpha to help secure their prisoners when she kept pushing through the streets. His voice ordering her to stand down that made Mickelson grab her by the back of her body armor and force her to stop running forward. Rumlow's final forceful order to withdraw that made her slack out the trigger and leave their target alive only to detonate a suicide vest at the entrance to a crowded market just seconds later. She swore the bastard smiled like he knew she wouldn't stop him.

When Echo Team returned stateside and debriefed, Allison had shut down. Infuriated by SHIELD's decision to fallback and the resulting collateral damage, she submitted her paperwork in hostile silence and left the Triskelion for home. Brock followed an hour later and, as soon as he was across the threshold of her door, the fight was on.

"I had the shot!" Allison railed on. "I _had_ that mother fucker."

"You had _orders_ ," Brock reminded her, sternly. "You were after Rojas, not some pissant bomb maker."

"That _pissant_ killed or maimed over a dozen civilians," she reminded him, jabbing an angry finger across the living room toward him. "They're still finding bodies."

"The mission-"

"The mission was a god damned soup sandwich from the word 'go'," she interrupted.

"Calm the fuck down," he griped, his brow folding down in growing irritation. Brock's eyes ran up and down her and his expression softened slightly. "You hurt?"

"What?" she balked, momentarily thrown by the change in topic. "No. I'm alright."

"You got cuts up the side 'a your neck 'n arm like you caught some shrapnel or somethin'," Rumlow noted, gesturing a hand up at her. "You don't look alright. You get checked out when you came in?"

"I'm fine," she huffed, taking a short and angered pace across the living room before she turned on him again. "I wouldn't even have this," she seethed, glancing down at the marks on her arm, "if someone had done their fuckin' job. That intel was shit and someone should have known. God damn it. They should have known better than to send us in there."

"That's enough, Addy! Don't start somethin' you can't finish," he warned, squaring himself to her. "This is way above your pay grade."

"Above my pay grade?!" she snapped. "Are you fucking ki- I don't give a shit _whose_ pay grade it is. They weren't on the ground. I was. They made the wrong call."

"It was _my_ call," he bit. "And it's the reason _you're_ still alive and _not_ layin' in a fridge somewhere under a flag."

She stopped, stunned for a moment and feeling betrayed. He was still an operator. He had a command, but he was still running missions in the field. He should know better than anyone when to trust his people.

"We're done with this," he told her. "Look at the big picture, Addy. You gotta learn to pull back. You can't let this work get that personal. SHIELD's not gonna lose their best team doing favors for some weak link government."

"Excuse me for giving a shit about innocent people," she said, the sarcasm earning a deeper scowl from Rumlow. "I thought that was my job- keeping them safe."

"Don't twist this around like that," he scolded, glaring at her, his patience slipping again. "The press is havin' a goddamn field day with this- our patches on masked soldiers in a running gun battle on civilian streets. Jesus. You have _no_ idea the damage control SHIELD is doing for this little disaster. You're lucky you're not gettin' strung up for disobeying orders. I don't give a shit if you're chasing the devil himself. When I tell you to stand down, you fuckin' stand down. You read me?"

"No. You're right," she agreed, unexpectedly calm. "We're done with this. ...Have a safe trip home."

"Safe tri- You fuckin' kiddin' me right now?" he dared, his eyes wide and brow high with disbelief. "You're kickin' me out?"

"I can't even look at you right now," she told him, trying not to sound as wounded by the discussion as she really was. "Just go."

His mouth slacked open, ready to keep fighting, before he straightened up and sniffed, wiping a hand down his mouth. "Fine," he conceded, angrily, with a tight nod and jaw set forward. "You want me to go? I'll go. But this is bullshit, Addy. It's fuckin' bullshit."

April 2015

"Easy now," she told him, her voice low and soothing. "Deep breathes. Bring it down."

"Fuck me," Barnes panted, sitting up in bed, and carding a shaky hand through his hair.

"Just breathe," she reminded him, glancing up at the heart monitor. "You alright?"

"Yeah," he nodded on the end of a rattling breath.

"I think we've got it," she noted. "You're reaction to the injection took less than 15 seconds."

"Christ," he mumbled, his shoulders finally relaxing as he bent forward and leaned his arms into his thighs. "How much was that?"

Allison winced, like a child who'd been caught at something dangerous. "A lot," she told him. "You probably don't want to know."

"Probably not," he agreed. "Now what?"

"Well," she shrugged, "we know about what it takes to wake you up. Now, what we need to do is start fine tuning and training your body to react to the adrenalin as it comes with the trigger, replace one subconscious reaction with another."

"You've been right so far," he conceded.

"We'll need more epinephrine," she frowned, looking at the last bottle on the desk. "We're almost out. I'll go back tonight."

"You want me to go?" he offered.

She shook her head, without hesitation. "No."

"Why not?" he asked.

"Because nobody's looking for me," she told him. "Your shiny metal ass was all over the news, after DC. The last thing we need is anybody reporting a sighting in the area. HYDRA, CIA, or whoever will be on this place before we know it."

"It's just my arm," he corrected. "Not my ass."

"Shut up," she scoffed. "You know what I mean."

He smirked at her. "Careful, Kate," he warned. "You almost laughed. Someone might think you're actually human."

With a roll of her eyes, she reached out and began pulling off monitor leads. "Piss off," she grumbled.

"Hey," he began, "I'm just saying, it's gotta be exhausting for someone to be that cold all the time. You can't possibly be- Ow!" He slapped a hand to his chest, massaging the tender, red piece of skin she had just pulled a particularly well stuck electrode patch from. "-be that mean," he finished.

"Sorry," she smirked.

"Son of a bitch," he mumbled, complaining again. "Maybe you are."

"I said 'sorry'," she reminded him.

"Yeah, I heard it," he said, giving her an annoyed once over. "What's your deal anyway?"

"My what?" she asked.

"You deal," he repeated, swinging his feet down to the floor and pulling his shirt over his head. "Why are you so pissed at HYDRA? What do you want with Rumlow?"

June 2013

Allison glared at her cell phone ringing on the desk. She tapped the "ignore" icon and turned her attention back to Mickelson. He went on about the upcoming firearms requalification, complaining about having to miss his daughters third birthday for it. Her phone chimed a new voice message and she flipped the screen down to the desk. It was the second phone call in five minutes to her cell with an "Answer your phone" text in between for good measure.

"You wanna answer that?" Eric offered.

"No," she told him, her eyes wide for emphasis.

"They seem pretty persistent," he pointed out. "Could be important."

"It's not," she told him. She turned her attention to the tablet propped up on her desk and leaned back in her chair. "Anyway. Lemme get in touch with Messerschmitt. He's usually pretty flexible. If he's willing to swap days, you can go out the day before with 2nd Squad and be home for the party."

"If you can pull that off, I'd be in your debt forever," he promised.

"We'll make it happen, somehow," she assured him, with a smile.

"You still coming out for the 4th?" he asked, relaxing back into his seat.

The facedown phone rang again.

"Mother fucker," Allison angrily muttered, through grit teeth, picking up the phone to silence it again and slamming it back down.

"Seriously," Mickelson said, "you don't call back whoever that is, or answer, and I will. It's starting to drive _me_ nuts."

She couldn't help a small laugh. "Yeah, I apologize for that," she told him, shaking her head. "Go on. Get outta here. Before Julie murders you for being late again. Or worse, divorces you."

"Thanks, Al," Eric smiled, standing from his seat. "You're the best."

"Yeah, yeah," she said dismissively. "Goddamn brown noser."

Mickelson shut the door behind him as he left and she picked up her phone. She tapped to the voicemail list and scowled. All five of the messages were from Brock, three in the last half hour and two from the morning. She toyed with the idea of deleting them all before curiosity got the better of her. She finally tapped on the first message and put the phone to her ear to listen.

"Addy, it's me. I'm hoping you're just busy and not ignoring my calls. Call me back. We need to talk about this. I know you're pissed but...Call me back."

She scoffed quietly, an arrogant breath huffing out her nose. At least he sounded apologetic. She looked at the phone and deleted the message before playing the next.

"Addy, I know you're not playing this fuckin' game with me. I know your schedule is clear for the rest of the day. I checked. You got no excuse to not call me back. I don't have time to keep screwin' around like this. Call me back."

She smirked at his frustration and moved to the next message.

"So help me god, Allison, if you don't answer the goddamned phone next time I call, I'm-...Fuck...Goddammit, Addy. You need to call me back. I'm fightin' the clock here. You need to answer the phone next time I call."

She pouted thoughtfully. She had bristled at the start of the message over his empty threat, but there was an earnestness to the rest of the message that softened her a bit.

"Today of all fuckin' days, Allison...I don't have time for this, sweetheart. Call me back. I've got 9 minutes till drop. Answer your phone. Please, Addy. I know you're pissed. I'm sorry. Lemme talk to you. Call me back."

He sounded exhausted by it all, maybe even a little desperate. Resigned. She checked her watch against the time on the message before listening to the last voicemail.

"Addy- Baby, come on. I got 5 minutes till drop...Okay...Addy, I know you're not gonna call me back, so just listen. I know you think I shouldn'ta pulled Echo out. You wanna ignore me a few days? Fine. I'm dealin' with that. But when's enough?...There's some fights we can't win, Addy. I'm sorry, but that's the truth and you know it. We can't save 'em all. I know you think you coulda done more, but it all fell apart too fast and I'm not gonna apologize for making sure you, or anybody else, didn't come home in a fuckin' box...*4 minutes, Rumlow* Yeah, I know...Addy, I got less than 4 minutes before drop, six days dark. Call me back. I gotta hear you tell me we're okay. Six days, baby. I can't do that without hearin' you say we're okay, can't get my head clear. Lemme hear your voice, baby...I love you, Addy."

Allison let her hand fall with her phone from her ear to her lap. She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger. She raised her phone again, calling him back and resting her temple against her fist as the line rang.

"Baby," he said with a sigh, his voice heavy with relief.

"Hey," she answered, not quite sure what she was going to say.

"60 seconds, Rumlow," she heard someone say in the background. "How 'bout you get off the damned phone already, huh?"

"Man, fuck you, Rollins," Brock snapped, away from the phone.

"Fuck you!" Rollins yelled back.

"I'll slit your goddamn throat," Rumlow warned, before coming back to her, clearly unhappy. "I'm sorry. I don't have a lotta time."

"I know," she told him. "Sorry I didn't call sooner."

"It's okay. I'm glad you called," he said and she thought she heard a smile in his voice for a second. "You got my messages?" he half asked and half hoped.

"Yeah," she said. "I did."

"You know why I did it?" he asked.

"I understand," Allison told him.

"Tell me we're okay, baby. You and me," he pleaded. "That's all I gotta hear before we go dark."

"We're okay," she promised.

"Okay," he breathed out. "I gotta go, baby. You know I love you, right?"

"I do," she assured him. "I love you, too."

"I'll be home in six days," he reminded her, sounding a little stronger and more like his confident self again.

"Be safe," she told him. "And if you can't be safe..."

"-be deadly," he finished for her. "I will."


	11. Chapter 11

April 2015

"My business with Rumlow is my business," she told him.

Barnes stood to follow her out of the room. "That's mysterious," he quipped. "What'd he ever do to you?"

 _He lied. Everything he told me was a lie._ No. That wasn't it. It wasn't all of it. But "do"? He hadn't done anything to her. Since she met him for that first beer at Barny's he had been kind, affectionate, protective, gentle, doting. If some part of him wasn't really those things, how could she not have seen something else- a hint, a clue he was the enemy? Every day her life depended on her training showing her the difference, on seeing the tell and finding the lie. He had lied, but she didn't know where the lies stopped and the truth, if there was any, began anymore. Not with him. Finding Brock Rumlow meant finding two people- the one she knew and loved for years and the one she found in the HYDRA files. She had to find him to figure out which one he really was.

"He has information I need," she said as he followed her through the hallway to the kitchen.

"What's the intel?" he asked.

"None of your business," Allison said, flatly, her tone meant to end the discussion.

"I thought we were finally getting somewhere," Barnes said, furrowing his brow and taking the bottle of water she held out to him. "I thought we were helping each other out. How are we supposed to do that if you don't tell me what you're after?"

"I need your help to find him," she said. "That's all the help I need."

"And when we find him?" he asked, after a long drag from his bottle. "There gonna be anything left of him for me?"

"What?" she shrugged. "You just want to kill him, right? What does it matter what happens to him with me?"

"It doesn't really," Barnes told her, leaning himself back into the counter. "I just want to make sure he lives long enough for him to know the hell I suffered."

"He wasn't the only one," Allison pointed out. "There had to have been plenty of handlers over the years. He was only there for 10 years. There had to be someone after him. There's probably more than a few left to get your revenge rocks off to. Why fixate on him?"

"I'm just crossing off names when I find them," Barnes explained.

She didn't know how to feel about the answer. Part of her wanted to kill Rumlow with her own bare hands, his betrayal had hurt her so badly. Maybe he was nothing but a double agent who played her for whatever he got out of it. But the other part didn't know what he deserved and the surviving soft spot in her heart, as wounded and bleeding as it was, wanted to protect him.

June 2012

"Alright. Alright," Rumlow called over the laughter and conversations on his way to the podium at the head of the briefing room.

All of Echo Team was a little wound up, having just finished their quarterly weapons qualifications over the last couple of days, which always concluded with a few hours of friendly trick shot and improbable scenario shooting for bragging rights of "top gun". The ache from recoil and smell of burnt black powder could be an intoxicating combination in the right testosterone filled environment and they let off the excess energy with loud jokes and masculinity challenging comments while they waited for their briefing to begin. Rumlow waved a hand downward, motioning for the room to come to order.

"Lock it up!" Rumlow ordered loudly and the room fell silent. "Congratulations to the following- Addams, Anderson, Conway, DiAmato, Hauck, MacGill, Mickelson, Strickland, and Taberski. Perfect scores on your pistol and rifle quals. Congratulations, DiAmato- 'top gun' this round. As for the rest of you mooks, I don't want you anywhere near me in a fire fight." The operators in the room chuckled and Brock smirked along. "Seriously though, nice shooting, everyone. Fire team leaders will have next quarter's range dates and times for you by the top of next month. See them if you have any problems."

He sorted aside a few papers before moving on. "Number one on the agenda," Brock said, looking back up. "First Squad, you're back in rotation as of now. Everybody, clear your calendars and pack your sunscreen. You're headed out for Dubai." There were several loud groans in complaint. "Knock it off," he halfheartedly warned, as a photo appeared on the screen behind him. "Rehan Al Mansoury- oil and petrochemical magnate, suspected of funneling money to multiple terrorist franchises in the Arabian Peninsula." A second photo appeared on one side of the screen briefly before a video ran of the two men. "The man on his right, is Vincent Balon- accountant and book keeper of Al Mansoury's disgustingly well developed and diversified portfolio. Mr. Balon has been spotted as the key to identifying and disrupting Al Mansoury's financing of terrorist operations in the Middle East."

"Mr. Balon's dear, sweet mother, Jacqueline, is not well," he went on. "A fact we'll be able to exploit to turn Balon asset. Intel suggests his close family relationships, especially with his ailing mother, means he'll be inclined to cooperate in exchange for asylum, immunity, and treatment for his mother's condition. However, as a key part of Al Mansoury's operation, Balon is a very difficult man to talk to. Balon is on a strict schedule and short leash, but we've got a couple windows. Our job is to approach and assess Mr. Balon and, if it looks good, get him on board and secure the access and evidence we need to start taking apart Al Mansoury's operation. Agent Romanoff is on assignment elsewhere. Sgt. Addams will make the approach on Balon."

A small ruckus rose in the room again. A few guys shifted excitedly in their seats and craned to get a look at Allison, whistling and catcalling. She ducked her forehead down into one hand and raised the middle finger of the other above her head. Somewhere in the room someone yelled, "Hot damn, it's the return of the 'honeypot'!", prompting Allison to raise her other middle finger high for all to see. The small disruption grew to a din and Rumlow wasn't happy.

"Hey!" he barked, over the noise of the room. "That's enough!"

They quieted down again, minus a few snickers. Allison slapped Mickelson's arm to her right to get him to stop laughing. From the front of the room, the Commander shook his head, disapprovingly, sas he looked around.

"Yes, it is a 'honeypot'," he said, plainly annoyed by their juvenile response. "But I expect you all to be professionals. Just because SHIELD knows the rest 'a you shitheads are too ugly to pull this off doesn't mean Sgt. Addams doesn't deserve your complete respect and full support on this assignment. We're family. You take care of her like she's your little sister. You read me?"

There was an unsynchronized chorus of "yes, Sir" with varying tones of apology and strong understanding.

"That's more like it," Rumlow told them with a nod. "Sgt. Addams should be able to gain access to Balon's residence and install listening devices and clone his laptop and other tech with little suspicion. ...Mr. Balon has a type. ...First Squad will support Sgt. Addams with surveillance and be ready for extraction if this goes south. Second Squad will run recon and surveillance on Al Mansoury and mission support for First with covering Addams. Report and departure is zero-530 tomorrow. So, sleep fast."

At home, Allison was packing light. She was in the bathroom, sorting through the medicine cabinet for makeup, toothpaste, and other toiletries. From the front of the apartment she heard the locks and door open then close again. She smiled hearing Brock's footsteps and the small jingle of keys repeatedly being flipped around his index finger to catch in his palm, a tick he had when something was on his mind. Coming out of the bathroom, she smiled at seeing him leaned into the doorway of the bedroom. He watched her pack some clothes into her suitcase for a moment before he stepped in, crossing the room to drop a stuffed full, manila envelope he had under his arm onto the end of the bed.

"Alias, cover, hotel, cash, credit cards, dossier on Balon, etcetera," he told her, tipping his head toward the envelope. "It's all there."

"Good," she nodded. "Thanks."

Allison picked up the envelope and looked inside. Brock stood by, flipping his keys into his palm a few more times. She looked over at him.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

Brock shook his head with a shrug. "Nothing."

She folded the envelope closed and set it beside her suitcase. "You upset about the assignment?" she suggested.

His lips pulled back into a quick, tight lipped frown. "I don't like it," he admitted, thumbing his keys down into his pocket.

"It's just a job," she reminded him. "It's not a big deal."

"It should be Romanoff," he complained.

"I can pull this off," she told him.

He cocked his head and scowled at her. "I know you can. That's not what I mean."

"You're jealous?" she asked, a hint of doubtful humor in her tone.

"It's not the fuckin' 80's anymore," Rumlow said. "We don't need to run ops like this. You, inside Al Mansoury's camp, out there without weapons 'n on your own."

"He's an accountant," she said, realizing he was bothered by the parameters of the mission. "It takes a different kind of finesse to recruit sometimes. It doesn't mean anything, and believe me, nobody's sleeping with anybody. You think the thought of that guy pawing at me turns _your_ stomach..."

"I don't like it," he repeated, folding his arms around her shoulders as she came into him for a hug. "It's not how we should be doing this."

"They do it because, somehow, it still works," she shrugged. "The trick is to see how fast I can pull it off and so we can all get home."

"That's even more bullshit," he told her. "Putting Echo on this chickenshit op, taking one of my best teams outta rotation for who knows how long, because Romanoff's out playing Avenger. You, 7,000 miles away, without a clear timetable."

Allison gave him a soft smack on the arm. "Quit picking on Romanoff," she told him. "It's not like you've got a wealth of female options to choose from. What's-her-face in Bravo's too green for this."

"I still don't have to like it," he reminded her before pressing a kiss to her forehead.

April 2015

"If I didn't know any better, Kate, I think you get off on stabbing me with needles," Barnes suggested, watching Allison prepare an injection.

She shot him a disinterested look. "Imagine what'd happen if I used my knife."

"I like you, Kate," he said, squinting approvingly over his smile and his finger wagging at her, following her across the infirmary room.

"My life is complete," she said, with a sarcastic monotone. "Take off your shirt."

"You know what you're problem is?" he asked, pulling his shirt off over his head.

"Tell me, please," she insisted, with mock enthusiasm.

"You don't want to like me, but you sure don't mind the company," he told her. "You don’t want to admit that I may actually be a good guy."

"You're a HYDRA assassin," she corrected, giving his shoulder a push for him to lie down.

Propped up on his elbows in the bed, he looked up at her. "If you were an agent of SHIELD, what does that make you?"

She gave him a cold glare. Rumlow's files had shown her the list of missions and assassinations she ran, under the guise of SHIELD missions, that fueled the HYDRA agenda. A trip gone bad to Africa meant to take out the leadership of an out of line HYDRA subordinate, an asset recruitment in the Middle East, a Mossad agent who stumbled onto a hint at HYDRA's hiding in SHIELD. The list went on. Nearly half of her work for the greater good had turned out to be for the enemy.

"Shut up and lay down," she told him.

Barnes laid back into the mattress. "You and me," he said, "we're not so different."

"Oh, do tell," she begged, the sarcasm returned.

"We both worked for HYDRA," he pointed out, as she began placing electrodes on his bare skin. "You may not have known HYDRA was running SHIELD, but SHIELD's got just as much blood on their hands as HYDRA. You're just too afraid to admit it."

"I'm not afraid of anything," she countered, firmly.

"We're all afraid of something, kid."

Aug 2011

“A lotta guys I’ve seen come through don’t have half the balls you got,” he confidently said, before finishing the last of his beer in one long pull. “I gotta say, kid, I’m surprised.”

“Kid?” she parroted, smiling over the rim of her glass.

“I figure I got a few ta five years on you,” he laughed. “Definitely a lot more miles. You’re what, 30? 31?”

“29," she nodded with a regretful wince. “You? You’ve been at it a while.”

“Let’s just say, I can see the hill from here,” he said with a self-deprecating smiled.

Allison chuckled into her glass and took a sip. It was a strange place to be- having drinks with her commanding officer, the toughest instructor and most legit operator she’d ever seen in the field, and seeing him laugh and compliment her on her work. She certainly never thought he could be so approachable, let alone likable, after the months of hell she endured under his watch to join STRIKE and the cold disdain he seemed to show her after. She smiled, thoughtfully, to herself for a moment, considering that maybe she’d finally made it; that she had proven herself worthy of the tab on her uniform and the respect of her peers.

“What’s that for?” he asked with a curious smile and flick of his finger to point at her face. “That little smirk you got goin’.”

“Wha- No. No smirk,” she laughed. “I was just thinking how weird this is. Up until now, I was about 112% sure you hated me.”

“112%?” he repeated, his brow high and eyes wide, impressed. “That is...remarkably specific.”

She shrugged, a little self-conscious. “Well, I was pretty sure, so…”

“I don’t hate you, Addams,” he told her, his smile warmed and sincere, as he settled back into his chair. “I didn’t like you at first, but you’ve done some stuff," he conceded, with a shrug, "made an impression. You’re gonna be just fine.”

“Thank you, Sir,” she nodded appreciatively.

“Christ,” he complained, through a lopsided grin. “We’re not on company time now. You can call me Brock.”

“That seems...wrong, somehow,” she said, making a sour face and tittering into her drink.

“Why’s that?” he asked, picking up his whiskey.

Allison gestured to him, her open hand moving up and down. “You’re _the_ Brock Rumlow,” she reminded him. “STRIKE commanding, Delta Team leading- with Captain America mind you, living legend. And you’re gonna let 'the boot' call you by your first name?”

He laughed, loud and full. “You’re not a boot anymore, Addams,” he told her, shaking his head to wind down his laugh. “You've got a Medal of Valor in the vault. You stopped being a boot that day in Gaborone.” He tipped his glass to her. “Don’t sell yourself short, kid.”

She was humbled. Allison raised her glass back to him and they drank. “Thanks,” she said with a small nod.

“You earned it,” he affirmed. "I like you, Addams. You’re gonna do great things with Echo Team."

She laughed into a sigh. "It’s gonna sound so stupid, but first thing that popped into my head is Sally Field saying ‘You like me. You _really_ like me.’ I know it's dumb, but it kinda feels like that, hearing a compliment out of you, of all people.” She quickly added, “No offense.”

“None taken,” he smirked and took another drag from his glass. “It’s alright. That’s a good thing. …Figured I’d get you out here and let you know- I do like you.”

Allison was still for a moment, processing what he had said- the tone, the phrasing, the pace, the syllables and letters that were emphasized. She blinked and coughed out a small, awkward laugh before taking refuge in her glass. He couldn’t possibly have meant what she thought she heard. But his smile was kind and there was a hint of fondness in his brown eyes that made her stomach knot.


	12. Chapter 12

April 2015

"Ready?" Allison asked and he nodded. "Now that we've got the dose down, I'm going to give the trigger and the injection simultaneously. If we're lucky, maybe you won't drop at all."

"I hate to say this," he began, "but it would be kinda nice to have one of the doctors here to have me hooked up to the rest of these machines and read what's happening."

Allison pushed her lips to one side in an agreeing pout. "It'd be handy," she admitted. "Maybe we'd have figured this out a long time ago. At least to see some brain activity to know how far under you go, if you do, with this." She thought a moment, her eyes searching around the room. "Wish I knew how half this shit worked. There's got to be some way to measure consciousness and activity."

"Beats the hell outta me," Barnes commiserated. "But, I think we've done good so far, considering neither of us knows what the hell we're doing."

"True," she affirmed. She rolled the stool over to the bedside and sat down, uncapping the needle. Allison exhaled and worked her jaw in thought for a moment. She held out her arm, hand closed in a fist. "Here."

"What?" he asked, looking between her and her arm.

"Grab hold," she instructed. "You hold on tight. Just focus on holding on and not losing your grip. If your hand falls or relaxes too much, we can maybe add half a mil or something next time."

Barnes considered the suggestion a moment and reached out, closing his right hand around her wrist, firm but far from hurting her. "You know what this means if this works," he lead, pausing for a moment as she looked at him to finish. "I'll be free...Nobody controls me anymore."

She gave him a small smile, appreciating how much the possibility had to mean to him after 70 plus years as a slave to HYDRA. Barnes looked at her and let go of her wrist.

"Not even you," he added, a soft reminder more than a warning.

Allison straightened up and took a deep breath. "I know," she nodded her own recognition. 

Barnes nodded back at their mutual understanding. He took his own deep breath and settled his head back into the pillow. Allison shifted her gaze up to the heart monitor, watching his rhythm steady itself. She held out her arm again for him to hold. From the side of her eye, she saw his hand come back up. She turned with a bit of a start, feeling his hand on hers and watched as he worked his fingers into her palm. His eyes set on the ceiling, Barnes held her hand tightly.

She saw the anxiety in his face again. Her eyes flicked back to the monitor to see his heart rate climb slightly. Allison wasn't completely heartless and gave his fingers a reassuring squeeze as she saw him swallow hard. She pressed the needle point into his leg, taking in a breath before she pushed down the plunger of the syringe while giving the trigger. At the same time, she heard his breath pull in sharply and felt the pressure of his grip on her hand increase. 

"Come on," she muttered softly to herself as she withdrew the needle and set it aside.

She watched his heart rate spike on the monitor beside the bed. The rhythm jagged quickly over the screen and then slowly began to even out again. She looked back down at him, his eyes closed and chest still rising and falling with short, rapid breaths. His breathing began to level and his eyes opened to the ceiling before falling over to her.

"Well?" he asked, almost hesitant.

She shook her head and inclined her head to his hand in hers, still holding her tight. "You didn't let go."

Aug 2011

"You alright to drive?" Rumlow asked.

"I'm good," she promised.

He held up a hand to thank the driver of a delivery van for slowing to let him and Allison step off the curb in the misting rain. Walking across the street, Brock methodically flipped his keys on his finger to catch in his palm, as he escorted her to her car. Allison thumbed a button on the key fob of her black Tahoe, disarming the alarm and unlocking the door. 

"You know, the thought of you walking _me_ , of all people, to my car is a bit ridiculous, right?" she pointed out.

He laughed. "It's not for you," he told her. "It's to protect whatever fuckwit tried to mug you."

"Nice," she smiled, pulling open the door to her SUV. "Well, I'll sit here till you get to your car, ya know, in case I need to protect your mugger."

"I appreciate that," he nodded.

 _Oh, shit_. Allison felt a sudden pang of nerves in her gut. The twist reserved for those awkward moments at the end of the night, standing at your front door with the guy you like, waiting to see what happens next. Only, it was at her car outside a dingy bar, in the kind of rain that soaks you faster than you know it, with the guy who was her commanding officer. _This isn't- because it can't really- I'm not actually considering- Fuck me. Don't even think it. It's the booze talking_. _It's your imagination_.

"We should do this again, sometime," he told her, the hint of a fond smile pulling back one side of his mouth. 

She nodded, words escaping her for a moment. "Sure," she finally managed.

His eyes wandered around her face, as his mouth tugged back into a charming smirk and he snorted out a small laugh. Allison's gut summersaulted, wondering if he saw the absurd questions about the situation running through her mind. He gave her a small nod, the charming smirk spreading into a grin. 

"Everything alright, Sergeant?" he asked.

"Yes, Sir," she nodded, her hand firmly curled into the handle in the armrest of her car door, as if it offered her some kind of reassurance.

Rumlow took a step in, his eyes locked in on hers. Instinctively, Allison straightened up. Tipping back at the invasion of her personal space, there was a quiet hitch in her breath and the small, mischievous tug at the side of his mouth said that he noticed. She blinked, still not quite allowing herself to believe that he was that close to her and that she somehow didn't mind it. He paused, his lips a breath from hers and Allison caught the scent of his cologne. All at once, she felt the nervousness dissolve and his lips kissing hers for a long moment, soft and reverent, wet from the rain and warm.

"You don't have to call me 'sir'," he reminded her, leaning back again.

May 2015

"You know," Allison began as she peeled off the cover to the sticky backing of an electrode, "if you look like you're gonna fall, I'm not going to catch you."

Barnes made a disapproving tick with his tongue and shook his head, looking down at her on the stool in front of him. "See? Every time I start to think that ice water in your veins has warmed up a bit, you go and say stuff like that."

She shrugged, nonchalantly. "Well, I'd hate to let you down."

"You're not as mean as you want me to think, Kate," he told her, confidently smug.

"Yeah, well," she said on a sigh, wadding up the electrode covers into one palm and dropping them into the trash. "You've never seen me when I'm angry."

"I'll admit it," he said, cocking up an eyebrow, "the idea does intrigue me."

"Shut up," she told him with a tiny smirk, as she pushed the needle into his thigh, a little harder than necessary.

Allison looked up at him and he sent her a quick glare before he smirked, calling her a bitch. She smiled back and offered up her empty hand. He gripped her left in his right and held on tightly, nodding his readiness. She administered the injection as she spoke the trigger word and looked to the heart monitor. 

"Still there?" she asked, turning her gaze back to him.

Barnes' face grimaced in concentration and he squeezed her hand against his leg. "I'm here," he said on a small breath, before his eyes snapped open. 

Allison looked him over. There was no sway or weakness in his posture. His grip of her hand hadn't relaxed and he had answered her immediately. The monitor tracked a steady, even rhythm and his respiration was smooth and controlled. 

"Holy shit," she marveled, softly to herself.

Barnes looked down at her, his eyes wide and disbelieving. They stared at each other for a moment, quiet and unmoving. The moment of silent achievement was short lived for Allison. Realizing the only leverage she had over him was gone, she felt her own adrenalin coming and she pulled her hand from his. He put his hands to his face, wiping them down slowly as he took in his new reality. He didn't seem to pick up on why her hand was gone. 

His hands paused, drawing his mouth down toward his chin, he exhaled heavily. Barnes turned his head to her. "Do it again," he told her. "Say the trigger."

Knowing this could be the final test, Allison swallowed the small lump that had been building in the back of her throat. She nodded and said, "Sputnik."

There was nothing. A small pause while his eyes were closed, listening to the word. The moment the last syllable left her tongue, his eyes were open again. They had done it. They had disarmed the trigger. Softly at first, and slowly, a laugh came to him. Starting in his chest and pushing into his shoulders, the sound of happiness came. Barnes looked over himself and began pulling off the monitor leads. He tossed them aside and turned to Allison, as he settled his laughter into a warm smile that showed the relief of seventy years of imprisonment gone.

He saw Allison didn't share his joy and his face fell, overcome by worry and suspicion when he saw the unreadable hardness of her expression. She carefully rose to her feet, taking a step around behind the stool. Her hand slid down to the pistol on her leg and her thumb pushed the hood of the holster forward as she stepped backward to open a gap between them. 

His eyes flitting down to the gun under her palm, Barnes' face was wounded. "Kate-"

She put up a warning finger to stop him. "Don't," she told him. 

Barnes held up his hands to her, showing her his empty palms. "What are you doing?" he asked.

Allison drew the pistol and, with a flick of the barrel, gestured him toward the door. "You said so yourself," she reminded him, "no one has control."

"I do," he told her.

She shook her head. "I do."

"Jesus, Kate," he said, plaintively. "Three months. In all that time, what have I done to show you you can't trust me?"

"I don't trust anyone anymore," she told him, flatly. "Now, move. Back to your room."

May 2014

The SUV rumbled down a long gravel driveway, wide enough for one car only. Allison came around with a gentle shake of her shoulder from Mickelson. She straightened up, wiping at the corner of her eyes and looking out the window. There was nothing around. On either side was open field that eventually butted into thick forest and hillsides. Ahead of them down the road, a small structure began to take shape.

"Where are we?" she asked.

"Radford, Virginia," Eric answered. Leaning in to see through the windshield, he pointed ahead. "That's Claytor Lake. We're pretty well isolated here."

Allison nodded and watched through her window, surveying the landscape for escape and attack points, noting the terrain, and trying to orient herself in the fading sunlight already below the treetops. At the end of their road was a large two story farmhouse with a wide porch that wrapped around its edge and a pair of small barns off to one side. Through the open doors of one of the barns, Allison counted three SHIELD SUVs with at least a pair of Delta Team members standing inside talking. On the porch, she recognized First Squad, Fire Team Alpha, also from Delta, standing watch. They shifted where their weapons slung over their chests and stepped forward, eyeing the SUV as it stopped across the front of the house. Their posture relaxed, and even a few smiles appeared, when Allison opened her door and stepped out of the backseat.

"How many are here?" Mickelson called up to the porch, as he walked around the vehicle to join Allison.

The fire team leader, Lt. Haslip, let his rifle hang beside him and came down from the porch. "23 now," he said, his eyes counting over the agents from the SUV. "Another 13 up north. There's a few still coming in." He looked at Allison and reached out an arm to her shoulder, pulling her to his side for a quick fraternal hug. "Glad to see you still alive," he told her.

She reciprocated the greeting, putting her hand on his back when he had touched her and nodding. "Thanks. You too."

"Loadout any gear you have," Haslip told them, gesturing to the house behind him. "There's hot chow inside. We'll get you bunked in." He pointed to the their driver. "Stash this with the rest of the chalk," he instructed before turning to lead the others inside.

The interior of the old house looked exactly the way it should have, with curtains hung and worn furniture. If it weren't for it being a HYDRA safe house, its last century country charm would have been inviting. In the living room, several agents and STRIKE operators were spread around, watching the news from DC on the TV, and, most of them, eating. They greeted the new arrivals with waves and quick hellos and Haslip led them further inside and past the dining room. More operators were gathered around the table eating, some smoking or drinking quietly. She could tell some of the men in the house had had a hard time getting there. She noted the positions and angles of several cameras in the corners of the rooms and hallway she'd seen.

In the kitchen at the back of the house, a pair of agents she didn't recognize were plating up diner for themselves from a counter full of MRE's and trays of cooked meats from a grill she could see smoking outside one of the windows. Haslip pointed to the corner of the room where the wide door to the basement stood open.

"Drop your gear at the door," he told them. "Eat while it's hot and I'll show you around after dinner and get you set up for the night."

Haslip disappeared to rejoin his team on watch and Allison and the others dropped their bags by the door. They filled their plates and grabbed water from the shelf in the pantry. Allison took her food out the back door and took a seat on one of several logs around an empty fire pit that looked out toward the lake a short walk away. She took in the view in what little sunlight was left, noting the roving patrol along the far end of the yard at the waterfront. Turning at the sound of the screen door shutting, she watched Mickelson walk over to sit beside her.

"What a day, huh?" he sighed, easing himself down on the log. "What a fuckin' day."

She nodded her agreement, taking a drink of her water. Eric shook his head and bit into his burger. Allison started eating, casually looking around every once in a while to keep track of the men on the perimeter. Several quiet minutes passed between them while the crickets chirped somewhere in the shaggy grass and the occasional din of chatter from the house fell out the open windows.

Allison broke the silence. "What about Julie and the girls?" she asked.

Mickelson nodded as he chewed. "On their way to her mother's house in upstate PA," he told her.

"Good," she nodded. 

"What about your banker friend?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Nah," she said. "We broke up."

"Sorry to hear," he told her then shrugged. "Better to not have a family right now, anyway."

"What happens now?" Allison asked, picking at the bun of her second burger.

"Well," Eric began before stopping for a drink. "We'll see how many of us are left. Should know for sure by morning. STRIKE will come here, if they can. And any others?" He shrugged. "We'll see what shows up."

"You don't sound too optimistic there, Mick," she noted.

"Fuck optimism," he laughed. "SHIELD's burning to the ground, HYDRA's gone public, Insight failed. So, if you're looking for a little optimism, you came to the wrong place, Al." He chuckled again and took a drink of water. "I heard Captain Rogers went down with one of the carriers."

She still wasn't sure how to read him. He wasn't giving off any warning signs and he was still friendly. She was moving a step and a word at a time, playing off whatever the agents around her gave. For all she knew, she was the only one there loyal to SHIELD. 

"Who's in charge?" she asked.

Eric looked over his shoulder to the kitchen door before he answered. "Fuckin' Rollins," he grumbled.

Allison nodded. Rollins was Brock's right hand man and was with him from the last she knew. If he were here and alive, maybe Rumlow was too. Mickelson said STRIKE was supposed to come to the farm. Maybe he was on his way.

"Hey Mick, Addams," Haslip called from the kitchen doorway. "Boss is looking for you."


	13. Chapter 13

March 2014

"You here, babe?"

"Upstairs," she answered.

Allison glanced at the alarm clock on the bedside table. It was almost midnight. She smiled to herself, hearing the thud of his gear bag at the bottom of the steps and heavy footfall of his boots up the staircase. He had sent her a message earlier saying he would be stateside sometime in the afternoon and, after being gone a week with Delta Team, wanted to see her for dinner. At 11:54, he was running more than a little late.

Lying in bed with her head propped up by the pillows, she looked away from the file she was reading and smiled warmly when he appeared in the door. Pausing at the doorway, he smiled in return, taking a moment to admire her and looking spent. He came into the room, the soft light from the lamp beside the bed finding a bruised jaw and thin slice of red along a few inches of the left side of his throat where his neck met his jaw. Brock made a straight line for the bed. He set one knee into the mattress and crawled out across the width of the bed to rest over her hips, his right arm stretched beyond him to hang off the side of the bed, his right cheek lying on her belly, and his left hand relaxed over the curve of her arm folded across her chest. He looked exhausted.

Allison set the folder on the bed beside her and studied the blue and purple stained skin of his jaw with the softest touch of her fingertip. She frowned, seeing his heavy lidded eyes close tight for a second with a hint of pain and his cheek ticking back in a small wince. He reached up to take her hand away, moving it to his lips to press a kiss to her knuckles. When he was done, he held her hand in his, tucked under his chin. They didn't say anything for a long while, Allison running the fingers of her free hand slow and gently through his hair and his eyes closed. 

"I thought I saw you parked down the street," he nearly mumbled, the side of his mouth muffled against the warm bedding over her. "I was hoping you were here."

She gave him a fond smile. "I'm here."

"I'm glad," he told her.

"That bad?" she asked softly and with a tinge of worry, tilting her head to be more in line with his as he opened his eyes again.

Brock hesitated a moment, his eyes going between hers and back again. "Almost," he admitted.

Allison nodded her understanding and sympathy. "Well, then I'm glad you're here."

He gave her a tired smile and she supposed it was the best he could manage for now. Brock squeezed her hand, pulling it in a little closer to him as he closed his eyes again. Allison took her hand from his head and grabbed the file folder beside her to drop to the floor. He pulled his arm back from over the edge of the bed to hug along her side, his hand blading to rest underneath her, and she returned to combing her fingers through his hair soothingly for a few more quiet minutes.

"What happened to you?" Allison asked, eyeing the line at his throat. "That looks like a garrote."

She felt the warmth of his reluctant sigh pass over her wrist. "Nothing, baby," he said, his deep voice raspy and tired. "Just had a talk with somebody's all."

Allison frowned, for the vague answer and how uncharacteristically broken down he seemed. She didn't know where the op had sent him for a week or why it was without the Captain, but she couldn't help but wonder if something could have been avoided if Rogers was there. Brock obviously wasn't going to give her any details on the mission and, as much as she understood the need for security clearances, part of her resented he wouldn't tell her what happened. In her time with STRIKE and with him, she'd never seen him like this before and it was worrisome.

"Why don't you come up here with me," she offered, figuring he would fall asleep soon.

There was a moment before he moved and he sighed quietly, trying to muster the energy. She pulled his pillow from under her head and put it back on his side. He pushed his hands into the mattress to roll onto his back and slide his feet across the comforter on top of the bed. With a heavy exhale, he draped his left arm over his eyes. The discomfort it seemed to cause him to lift his arm didn't go unnoticed by Allison. Rumlow didn't bother to take off his boots or remove the weapons holstered on his legs. He didn't need to. Even if it wasn't his townhouse, she understood being injured and that kind of empty.

Allison sat up, folding the covers away and crawling down to the end of the bed. She pulled the extra blanket out from under his feet, fanning it open over him and pulling it up with her as she moved back to her pillow. She reached back behind her to switch off the lamp and turned to curl up to him, ignoring the small shiver from her warm skin touching the molded plastic holster and handle of his pistol on his leg made cold by the air outside. He moved his arm from his face, with a barely audible groan, to slide under the blanket and around her shoulders. She nestled her head low against his chest, mindful to avoid his neck and jaw and to move carefully to avoid finding and aggravating unseen wounds as she settled.

"What were you reading?" he asked, clearing his throat to chase off the hoarseness of his voice in the dark.

"Khalid Qaderi file," she told him, speaking low and sweeping her thumb lovingly over his shirt and along the line down his stomach. "We fly out in the morning. Oh-800."

"Thank you for being here," he told her, his voice soft but still rough. "I know it'd be easier if you were at home tonight and hadn't waited up."

"Where else would I be?" she smiled, slipping her arm across his abs to hug him a little tighter and tilting down her knee between his. "You know I can fall asleep on the jet if I get tired."

"You know I love you, Addy, don't you?" he asked.

"Of course," she said.

"I need you to know that," he said, his voice coming over gravel and words moving slowly from fatigue. "No matter what happens, know that I love you, Addy."

He was kind of a sap sometimes, and she teased him for it. One too many whiskeys or too few hours of sleep and he turned into the most love struck fool she'd ever met. But it wasn't liquor or the tiredness talking tonight and she wouldn't tease him for being the softest tough guy she ever met. There was something so completely earnest and decided about it. It was the way he seemed to only use with her, when they were alone and away from the world of spies and politics and their lives were honest.

"I love you, too," she assured him, nuzzling into him when he tightened his arm around her and the thumb of his right hand, that hugged her closer to his chest, stroked over top of her arm.

May 2014

The farmhouse was old. The ceiling was low and Allison, and the others who had rode out to the farm with her, had to duck under the floor joists as they followed Haslip across the dirt floor basement. A dusty set of shelves gave way, hinging from the wall with a pull from Haslip and revealing a steel door. From the side of her eye, she noted the code Haslip punched into the keypad where a lock and handle should be. The steel door made a loud metallic thunk as the lock released and he pushed the door in. The doorway led to a staircase down and a corridor that took them beyond the footprint of the house above.

The underground bunker was quiet, bare concrete walls gave a dull echo to the groups' booted footfall as Haslip led them through the halls. Allison mapped out the floorplan in her head as they went, noting the number of open and closed doors they passed, what was inside, and anything that could be a landmark to find her way back or make a quick getaway. 

Stopping at a closed door at what had to be the furthest point in the bunker, Haslip knocked on the solid metal door before he opened it and stepped inside. Allison and the others followed. Behind the door was a war room, walls lined with monitors and big screen televisions, a bank of computers along the right side, and a long conference table in the middle. Seated at the far end of the table was Jack Rollins. A pair of men Allison didn't recognize sat on either side of him and another man sat working at a computer near the door. Rollins had been watching the news coverage of the incident in DC on one of the oversized screens on the wall when he looked over toward the door.

"Look at that fuckin' mess," he said from the end of the room, smirking and tipping his head toward the television coverage. "Look at her burn."

Rollins laughed and everyone joined him, including Allison. Her stomach twisted and she felt her heart pounding against the back of her ribs as she watched the live video of the Triskelion burning. She had played this game before, blending in and following the crowd to win someone's confidence, but never in such an emotionally compromised position. She swallowed down the acid burning up her throat and fixed on a confident smile, knowing now with absolute certainty that she was alone in a HYDRA stronghold, armed with a pistol with only 11 rounds of ammunition on her, and outnumbered by some of the most lethal operators in the business.

Rollins stood up and made his way down the length of the table to greet them. "'Bout time you sons a' bitches showed up," he said, shaking Mickelson's hand and then everyone else's. "Haslip's gonna show you the barracks." He looked to Allison. "Didn't know if you'd make it. I'll do you a favor and give you the officer's quarters."

"Don't put yourself out on my account, Jack," she said, with an indifferent shrug.

"Wouldn't want to be on anyone's bad side if they come to find out you had to shack up with these animals," he told her, before looking around the rest of the group. "Rest up. We'll get everyone into the watch rotation tomorrow. Anybody need any medical?"

Allison shook her head and the others answered aloud or shook their head 'no'. Rollins nodded and gestured for Haslip to show them out. He went back to his seat at the table, watching the news with a smug smile. Filing out at the rear of the group, Allison fought against every ounce of rage in her to draw her gun and put a shot into the side of Rollins' head. She bit down hard on the inside of her lower lip and the urge was under control again.

Safe and alone behind the door of the officer's quarters, Allison stood in the middle of the room and looked around. She dropped her backpack onto the bed and went to the desk, pulling open each of the drawers to see what was inside. She wasn't surprised to find the desk mostly empty except for a few miscellaneous office supplies. There was a knock at the door and she reached her hand behind her to grip the gun holstered at her back as she opened the door. She flashed a pleasant smile as she peeked around the door, seeing Emery, her Fire Team Alpha counterpart from Delta's Second Squad. She let go of her weapon, as she opened the door wide for him to come in.

"Got some towels and fresh uniforms for you," he told her, raising his hands holding a pile of material up to show her.

She nodded and thanked him, leaving the door open behind them. Allison took the laundry from him, putting it on the end of the bed. Emery smiled and held out his fist for her. She hit her hand to his and he smiled.

"Good to see you, Al," he told her.

"Same here," she smiled back.

It wasn't a complete lie. She had always liked John Emery. They had become friends fast when she joined Echo and he went above and beyond to help her transition into her fire team leader position a few years ago. It was almost as disappointing to see him there as it was to see Mickelson.

"Did you get a chance to eat?" he asked and she nodded. "Good. I'll let you get some rest. Lemme know if you need something. We're still trying to dust this place off, but we're pretty well stocked for whatever you need."

She smiled her appreciation at the offer. "Thanks," she said. "I will."

He showed himself back to the open door. "Good night, Al," he smiled with a short wave and shut the door behind him.

Allison puffed her cheeks out, exhaling heavily and crossing her arms over top of her head for a moment. She looked back at the clothes on her bed and sat down to go through the pile. She counted three black compression shirts and two pair of BDU pants, identical to her uniforms issued by SHIELD but without the subdued emblem on her shoulder. She would never have thought she would miss seeing it so badly, but was mildly relieved not to see the mark of HYDRA in its place. 

She scooted over to the middle of the bed and nuzzled her head back into the pillow. She stared at the ceiling, taking a deep breath and realizing how tight her muscles were. Allison covered her eyes with her arm and tried to relax.

May 2015

Allison unlocked the door to Barnes' room. It was seven in the morning and it was on her way to the kitchen. She didn't turn her back to the door until she was several backward steps away. It wasn't until she was around the corner that she even heard the door open. Thumbing down the hood of her holster and resting her hand on her gun, she kept on her way. In the kitchen, she found a breakfast MRE and went to the counter to start a pot of coffee. Hearing his footfall across the tile floor, Allison gripped her hand to her pistol again and squared herself to the aisle as he came around the counter. He stopped mid-reach for a mug from the shelf on the wall, his eyes catching sight of her hand at her side.

Barnes frowned at her. "Christ," he complained. "I bet you sleep with that in your hand at night." He picked a mug off the shelf and leaned back into the counter, folding his arms and watching her. He nodded at her lack of response. "I fuckin' knew it," he snorted. "You do."

"Go fuck yourself," she bit, leaving the holster unstrapped, but removing her hand to go back to making coffee.

"You know," he began, thoughtfully, "if you didn't lock me in at night, I could get up early and make the coffee. That way it'd be ready for you and maybe you'd be a little less of a bitch first thing in the morning."

"Yeah," she shrugged. "Or, and stay with me on this, I could just put a hole in you and solve both our problems."

Barnes smirked and shook his head. "God, I love it when you talk dirty."

She rolled her eyes and he chuckled. "You're a dick," she told him.

"Takes one to know, I guess," he shrugged innocently. He put his mug down on the counter and turned to lean on his hip to face her. "Anyway, as much as I love our little talks, when are we gonna get to work on finding Rumlow?"

Allison closed the lid on the coffee maker and turned it on, exploiting the business of making coffee for a pause to think. She hadn't been in a rush to find him lately. Time to think was a terrible thing and the longer she had put off continuing her search to help Barnes, the less angry she was and the more she thought maybe it was just better to disappear into the crowd and leave it all alone. It had been a year since SHIELD had fallen and she'd been on her own in the dark. No one was looking for her and becoming someone else was easy enough to do. She had plenty of money hidden away in a dummy account. She had the means and opportunity to walk away. She just needed the motivation. 

"Soon," she told him, turning back to her packaged meal on the counter. "Just need to make sure you're ready."

"I'm ready," he said, confidently. "I've waited long enough for this."

She played it casual, shuffling idly through the contents of her meal and feigning interest at reading the labels of the items. "What gives you such a hard on for him anyway?" she asked.

"We got a bit of a history," he told her. "He was my handler for a while. Oversaw my missions, kept me in line...administered the punishment when I got out of line."

"What does that mean?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder to check the progress of the brewing coffee. 

"The programming didn't always stick," Barnes explained. "The longer I was out of cryo, the more things came back, memories about who I was. HYDRA didn't like when their machine asked questions or hesitated on orders. So the handlers helped correct the problem their own way. Recalibration in the field, if you will, until the techs and doctors could get me in the machine. Order through pain. ...Rumlow worked with his hands." 

Allison looked over at him, putting her meal aside to pay attention. She hopped up onto the steel counter and listened while he spoke and seemed to stare intently at some imaginary thing on the floor in front of him

"I don't know what you know about him," Barnes continued, "but he's a brawler."

She knew.

"His corrections came as a beating," he said with a nod to himself at the memory. "You gotta try harder with me on account of the serum they put in me. But Rumlow? He didn't try, he just did. Other people before him, they used tools, deprivations, electrocution, the butt of a gun or a blackjack. All he ever had to use was his fists. Kinda gotta admire a guy like that." He paused, rubbing his hand across the back of his neck. "He's a fighter. I remember him in the field. Maybe in a different place he's the guy you'd want to fight a war with you."

"So, that's why you want to kill him?" she asked. "Because he kept order through beatings."

"It's what I can remember most," he said, looking over at her. He took up his mug and moved to make a cup of coffee as he went on. "It's part of it, anyway. Most of them treated me like an animal, like I was less than human...worse than that. The doctors, even though it was their job to keep me alive, treated me like a science project, but at least they weren't as cruel." He shook his head. "It's not all clear. My memories, they're still- Sometimes they just come in pieces. Not enough to put in order or understand at first. But it's what I know I remember about him." He filled his cup, twisting at the waist to hold it out behind him for Allison to take. "Here."

She accepted the drink, trading her empty mug for his full one. "Thanks," she told him.

"Sure," he said with a jut of his chin and turning back to pour a mug for himself. "Sometimes what I remember is clear as day- places, smells, details of a mission, conversations. But then sometimes..." He sighed, putting the coffee pot back on the burner. "It's a funny thing about Rumlow, sometimes. I have these images in my head of him, standing in the room arguing with the techs and the doctors over something they want to do to me. Or him watching them work on my arm like he's supervising, but that wasn't his job. The other handlers were never there for any of that. But him? He was...interested. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he were actually looking out for me. ...I don't know." Barnes shrugged. "They seem like memories but they're so different from what I remember the other handlers doing, it doesn't make sense and I wonder if it's not some weird dream or something."

"Have a lot of weird dreams?" she asked.

"Yeah," he shrugged. "Sometimes that's how things come back. More like nightmares than dreams usually, I guess." He sipped at his coffee, scowling at the mug when it was too hot. "It's the missions that come back at night, seeing the faces of people I killed, remembering how I did it, if they begged for their life." He tried his coffee again. "Rumlow's strong though. Mostly, I figure he'll just take it like a man, fighting till I take it all out of him. I wonder sometimes if there's any reason that would make him beg."


	14. Chapter 14

May 2014

There was something perfect about the mornings at home, out of the field or out of rotation. It didn't matter what day, how late or how early, or at whose place. It was just easy and quiet, the perfect juxtaposition to every other minute of their lives. Most days were chaotic at best and the nights were left for healing wounds and weary bodies. But the mornings, they were a fresh start. Sunday mornings off the clock were her one vice. His place or hers, she would sleep in.

In the mornings they were together, he poured her orange juice at breakfast for her- half a glass of juice and half of water, always. Ever since that first morning she woke up at his place and he teased her about cutting her o.j. with water. Less sugar- same taste, she told him.

It was her first mission on French soil where she tasted the best croissant she'd ever had and started her stopping into DC area bakeries on a whim to try and find anything that compared. A quest that eventually amused even Brock. There was a bakery he found in Virginia when he stopped to get himself a cup of coffee on his way home from training one time. It was a bit of a hike, but their croissants were the most authentic this side of the Atlantic. On Sunday mornings, if the night before had ended at home instead of in paperwork, he would slip out of bed and make the 25 minute drive out for the flakey pastries and have them waiting for her when she woke up, whether he could stay with her to enjoy them or not.

This morning, there was no cut juice or fresh viennoiserie. There were MRE's and cereal and a line waiting for scrambled eggs at the stove. Allison grabbed an open box of Cheerios and poured a bowl. She found an empty chair at the dining room table and lazily dipped her spoon in and out of the milk in the bowl as she ate. Looking around, she wasn't the only one who was miserably tired and quiet. Though she had to figure she was the only one who had a restless night due to being an actual SHIELD agent in a HYDRA camp. There were a few new faces around the house, agents and STRIKE members who finally made it in overnight, and she recognized them all. Breakfast was disappointing.

A glazed donut suddenly appeared in front of her face and she drew her head back in question as Mickelson's voice came from over her shoulder. "Power ring."

Allison chuckled in spite of herself, smiling as she accepted the offering. She looked up and her eyes followed him around to the far side of the table as he settled in to a recently vacated chair with a plate of eggs and toast. He smiled pleasantly at her before he started on his food. Pulling apart the donut one bite sized piece at a time, Allison ate quietly, resenting seeing him at the table with her. 

"Going for a run after breakfast," he began, speaking around a bite of toast in his mouth, "if you wanna work off that donut."

"Ass," she smirked.

"Exactly," he said, gesturing to her with his fork and critically eyeing her up and down. "Bikini season's right around the corner, and, well...I'm just saying."

"I'm telling your wife," Allison promised, a threat she'd made dozens of times and something to keep her charade going as she stood up from the table with her dishes. "Meet you outside in fifteen."

Right on time, fifteen minutes later, Eric met Allison on the porch. There was a slight chill in the air and the grass was tipped in a dewy frost. She asked if he knew where he was going and he said he didn't have a clue. He shrugged and she followed him off the porch, in a steady jog and with a 'good morning' wave to the morning watch as they passed. They ran along the gravel road for about a mile and a half, until the farmhouse was out of sight. That's when Allison found herself face down in the wet grass, after Mickelson's fist found the back of her head.

Before she could get to her feet, he was on her. Knee pressed into her spine and hand holding her head to the ground, Mickelson looked around quickly to see that they were alone. Allison worked her arm around, throwing an elbow back into his gut and pushing against the ground to turn over. She kicked into his chest, sending him toppling over to the gravel road behind him. She sprang up, squaring herself to him as his feet slipped for traction on the loose rocks and he scrambled to his feet. From under his shirt at his back, he brandished a knife and she sighed in frustration.

Eric lunged at her and she parried to the side, blocking his attack. She threw her hips back, springing out of the way as his arm swiped backward. Catching her before she was balanced again, he threw a left cross that connected with her jaw and sent her stumbling back a few steps before she could right herself. He came in, ramming his shoulder into her gut as he barreled her back into the ground. She leveraged her knee into his stomach, rolling him off of her and she twisted to sit over him, trapping his left arm under her knee in a high mount and wrapping her hands around his throat. Just as quickly, his knife was at her jugular and his free hand hooked behind her neck. They both froze, eyes locked on the other's and chests heaving for breath.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Al?" Mickelson finally spoke.

Allison's eyes widened. He knew. She didn't know what to say, wondering if she could lie her way back into the farmhouse after killing him on the road. She blinked and the knife pulled away from her throat. She watched as he turned the blade in his palm and stabbed it down into the ground at arm's length. He let go of her neck, showing her two empty palms, and she leaned back to kneel off of him. She eyed him carefully as he sat up, hooking his arm around a raised knee and shaking his head.

"You don't belong here," he told her, wiping a hand down his mouth and checking his surroundings again.

"How do you know?" she challenged, cool and even.

He smirked at her. "Because I know you, Al," he assured her. "You're one of the good ones."

"And you belong here?" she asked.

He looked at her for a long moment, a guilty remorse coming to his eyes before he nodded. "I do."

Allison swallowed hard, blinking and turning her eyes upward as she shook her head. "Jesus, Mick," she muttered, quietly.

"I'm sorry I brought you here," he told her. "I don't know why they told me to find you but- God damn it, I'm sorry I did."

"How long?" she asked, finding it hard to look him in the eye.

"Eight years," he said. "About five years in, they recruited me."

"Why? Why them?" she shook her head, disbelievingly.

"Would you believe for the money?" he chuckled before his face fell again. "I had a problem. Gambling, I got in deep and I said something and next thing I know, there they are. A pile of money and all ya gotta do is do a few favors for them in return. What the hell did it matter? I was already doing it for them in the first place. And once you're in, you kinda start to buy it."

A silent minute passed between them before Allison spoke up again. "So, what happens now, Mick?"

Eric looked at her and shook his head. "I don't know," he told her.

Their heads both snapped down the road. A soft crackling of rock and a rise of dust warned of a car coming toward them. Mickelson grabbed his knife, sheathing it under his shirt again. He nodded to Allison, signaling her to stay cool. An unmarked SUV slipped to a short stop in front of them, the cloud of dust pulled along behind it settling around Allison and Eric on the ground. The passenger window went down and Haslip leaned out on the door.

"What's the matter?" he asked, looking between the pair on the ground.

Allison's gut clenched and Mickelson spoke up. "Leg cramp," he told him. "Guess beer doesn't hydrate the way it used to."

Haslip smiled and jerked his thumb to the door behind him. "Hop in," he said. "We'll ride ya back."

Allison stood, leaning down to offer a hand to Eric and help sell the story. She helped pull him out his feet and he gingerly stepped to the vehicle, sliding in behind Allison. 

May 2015

Every day alone in the abandoned stronghold had been a reason to thank God for Steve Jobs. If she hadn't kept a duplicate iPod in her bailout bag, she'd have been even more bitter than Barnes already suggested daily that she was. She abandoned everything about her- her home, her clothes, pictures and keepsakes. The only thing that was left of her was the copy of her music library tucked snuggly into the bright orange arm band on her right bicep. The only thing that reminded her how simple and clear cut everything used to be when Allison Addams was still alive and life was good.

Fists punching to the pulsing backbeat of "If You Wanna" by The Vaccines, sweat made runs down the curves of her face and traced down the lines of the muscles in her abs and back. She was barefoot in a sports bra and shorts, kicking and striking the heavy bag to work out some leftover hostility from a bad dream she couldn't quite remember. She moved around the bag, throwing furious combos, ducking and leaning from imaginary attacks. The gym in the bunker was small, but it had enough free weights and bars to be put to good use every day. She was suddenly aware of being watched and spun fast to see Barnes settling into the door frame, pulling out an earbud to hang over her shoulder.

"Easy there, champ," he smirked. "It's just me."

"No shit, Sherlock," she said, tipping her head in annoyance.

"You're a little cocky for not having a weapon on you," he noted.

Allison reached behind her, slipping a punch knife from its place along her waistband to show him. "Not that I need it," she warned.

He smiled, his eyes running up and down her once. "I am dying to know where you were hiding that," he told her, quirking up a lascivious eyebrow.

"You should be so lucky," she scoffed, returning the knife to its thin sheath.

He grinned and cocked his head to the side. "Tempting offer," he mused.

She glared at him, pulling at the wraps on her hands. "Nobody's offering," she said, sharply.

"You're no fun, Kate," he told her and she rolled her eyes in reply. "What's a little flirting between friends?"

"Yeah," she nodded, sarcastically. "You're a regular Lothario, aren't you?"

"My reputation precedes me," he grinned, holding his hands out innocently at his sides. "Well, my old reputation, anyway."

She rolled her eyes. He came into the gym, pulling a towel off the shelf and tossing it to her. She kept her eyes on him as she wiped at her face and arms. Allison scheduled her time in the gym to avoid him. He had run of the room after 9 a.m. and he was there a half hour to soon.

"You're here early," she pointed out, unhappy at the interruption.

"Bored," he shrugged.

"You can have it," she told him, crossing the room for her bottle of water.

"You don't have to stop," he told her, picking up her drink from the chair nearby and handing it to her.

She hesitated a half step, realizing her proximity to him as she took the bottle from his extended arm. She moved wide around him to a set of hooks along the wall where she had hung her favorite hooded sweatshirt when she had started her workout. He watched her, turning on his heel to keep her in sight and folding his arms.

"You're never not 'on', are you?" he wondered aloud.

"No," she answered, flatly, as she pulled off her armband and earbuds to stuff into the front pocket of the sweatshirt on the wall.

He laughed quietly and her eyes flicked over at him for a moment before they rolled up to the ceiling, exhausted by him. Allison took her shirt off the hook, gathering the bottom in her hands to shorten the pull overhead. She slipped her arms into the sleeves, tugging them up to her elbows, and when her head emerged into her hood he was there. 

She backed a step away from him, her heels and shoulders meeting the wall behind her and her hand moving fast to the small of her back. Barnes moved in, his metal hand grabbing her right wrist at her back before she could draw the knife. His free hand catching hers as she threw a short cross intended for his face. Allison pressed her shoulders back into the wall, trying to push away, but the incredible strength of the serumed soldier was overpowering. She was trapped.

It wasn't the first way she expected to die. But then, she hadn't exactly planned on The Winter Soldier, or anyone else for that matter, finding her after she found refuge in the old HYDRA stronghold. She figured she would go down in gunfire, fighting HYDRA until all that was left for her to do was to die. Thinking on the end in those few seconds, she stopped struggling, resigned that part of her was tired of fighting and hiding. Maybe she could find a way out, but maybe him killing her would atone for all the wrong she hadn't meant to do when she didn't know SHIELD was HYDRA and she could finally be 'off'.

Behind her, she felt the strength of his hand working down her wrist to her hand. Against her will, his fingers pushed in under hers, peeling her grip from the handle of the knife. Her hand was free when he drew the knife. Twisting her arm from behind her to strike, her move was blocked by his metal arm raised to the level of his eye. He effortlessly brushed her arm away, the back of his hand pushing her wrist back into the wall.

Her eyes wide, defiant with anger, and heart racing, the end wasn't like anything she imagined. The cold of the metal against her sweating skin was almost soothing. The firm hold on her was menacing enough to keep her still but not to break her. The warmth of his breath on her face and the soft press of his lips on hers was a kindness she hadn't known in a long time. For a moment she forgot herself and everything was quiet. 

When it was over, he stayed close to her and his hands slipped slowly back to his sides. Neither of them spoke. Allison's mind ran through a gamut of responses- embarrassment, anger, offense, shock, resentment. She settled on indignant and slapped her hand hard across his face. She put her palms into his chest, pushing him back on his heel as she slipped to the open floor of the room again. She huffed, finally finishing tugging down her sweatshirt and knocking the hood back from her head.

Barnes turned to face her, rubbing his flesh hand along his jaw to calm the sting of his skin. "Worth it," he smirked, coyly.

Allison stopped, leveling her eyes at him and opening her mouth to say something she hadn't quite thought of yet. He chuckled at her silence and her mouth closed into a tight frown as her jaw worked forward. She shook her head and left the room, slamming the door shut behind her.

May 2014

"What's going on?" Allison asked, looking out the windshield of the SUV as they drove back to the HYDRA safe house. 

Ahead of them, former SHIELD agents moved in and out of the house. Carrying ammo cans and weapons' cases, they stacked and loaded equipment into a string of SUV's lined across the front of the farmhouse. They looked ready for a small invasion or, at the very least, were abandoning the compound.

"Orders," Haslip said, turning his head to speak over his shoulder. "We're moving up North. Got a tip that a SHIELD element got a hold of a few safe house coordinates. This location's been compromised."

"SHIELD?" Mickelson repeated. "Didn't think there was anyone left."

"Eh," Haslip shrugged. "There's always one, right?" They all chuckled as the vehicle came to a stop in front of the house. "Load your gear," he told Allison and Eric. "First chalk leaves in 15. If you're fast, you might catch them."

Inside, Allison went straight to her quarters. She stopped in the doorway, her eyes scanning the room. The little bit of furniture there was had been turned over, drawers emptied to the floor, clothes scattered around. She moved in slowly, careful to step around her things on the floor. Crouching down to pick up her iPod, she caught sight of her backpack in the far corner. Around it, the folders she took from Rumlow's safe were strewn over the mattress that was now lying on the floor. She grabbed her bag and looked inside. The tablet was gone.

Her eyes quickly searched over the mess of a room. She gathered up the files from the ground, hastily straightening them and sliding them back in her bag. Picking up her clothes and the rest of her things, she piled them on top of the desk, a means to sorting through the disaster and find the tablet and her gun. There was a heavy knock on the door and she looked up. Rollins stood in the doorway, holding up the tablet, screen lit and unlocked.

"Even after Bangui, I was surprised to hear your name on the list, honestly," Rollins said.

"Oh, yeah?" she wordered, her eyebrows raised in curiosity, as she straightened up.

She added the Bangui mission to her growing list of reasons to hate herself and what she'd done for SHIELD/HYDRA. She was still trying to sort what she thought might be work done for the greater good or for HYDRA's. Any name she heard them say or anything she would read in Rumlow's files would help square up the list.

"Yeah," he nodded, stepping into the room. "You know, when orders came to move out, that SHIELD knew about this place, the first thing I said was, we got a rat." He took another step. "And do you know my first thought was you?"

"Me?" she asked, sounding incredulous and a little insulted.

"You," he affirmed. "So, I tossed your room."

"Yeah. Thanks for that, by the way," she told him, looking around the room. "Find anything in your size?"

He laughed. "I found this," he said, tapping his finger on the tablet. "Then it all made sense."

Allison's gun was still unaccounted for. "Well, not everyone's a fast learner," she shrugged, trying to look calm on the outside, despite her racing heart.

Rollins handed her the tablet. "If he trusted you to get this out," he said, inclining his head to the device in her hand, "that's good enough for me."

She nodded. "You could've just asked, Jack," she told him, moving her thumb over the screen to keep the device active as she slipped it in her bag.

"What? And do things the easy way?" he chuckled and Allison smiled along. He handed her her gun in its holster. "Get your shit together. You can ride out with me."

"I'll be right there," she nodded. "Just gotta tidy up. Don't want to lose the deposit."

Rollins left the room laughing and she shut the door behind him. She moved quickly, taking out the tablet and relieved to see it still unlocked. Tapping through the security settings, she recoded the password and thumbprint ID so she could access whatever information it held later. Allison gathered the rest of her things, hastily replacing her bag and heading outside to catch her ride North.


	15. Chapter 15

May 2015

"Oh, good," Barnes said, drolly. "For a moment, I thought you'd given up on guns."

She sneered at him from her seat in the leather recliner in the rec room, her arm lined along the armrest of the chair and the gun in her hand turned his direction as he came into the room. She'd been taking a break from scouring Rumlow's tablet for more information when she heard him coming down the hall. Barnes took a seat on the couch along the wall, showing her his empty palms before he rested them onto his lap. They stared at each other for a quiet minute.

"Still mad?" he asked, his eyebrows innocently raised.

It had been a few hours since he'd stolen her knife and kissed her in the gym. She wasn't a fan of such affection from people whose names showed up on her mental list of enemies. She was still mad.

"Ya think?" she asked, tipping the gun in her hand his way. "Where's my knife?"

"In your room," he told her.

"You expect me to think you just gave back the only weapon you had?" she asked, giving him a rather incredulous expression.

"Don't believe me?" he asked. Barnes held his arms out wide and smiled mischievously. "You can search me, if you want."

Allison rolled her eyes. "Ugh. What is it with you?" she groaned.

"What is it with _you_?" he retorted. "Don't tell me you didn't like it."

"Oh, please," she spat out, leveling her eyes at him. 

"You know what your problem is?" he asked.

"You?" she guessed, annoyed by him again.

"Fair enough," he shrugged. There was another pause between them and he turned to the TV as credits rolled up a black background. "What are we watching?"

"Indiana Jones," she said, flatly, already disinterested in the conversation. "They're running them back to back."

"Never heard of it," he said, shaking his head. "Any good?"

"Seriously?" she asked, squinting at him suspiciously.

"Well, I've been a little preoccupied the last 70 years, ya know," he told her, the answer dripping with sarcasm. "I haven't quite caught up on everything."

She just shook her head. "It'll be the third one in the series," she explained. "You don't really have to see the first two to get it."

"Mind if I watch with you?" he asked. She shrugged and he pressed his luck. "Mind if I watch without a gun pointed at me?"

Allison considered it a moment and nodded, holstering her pistol as the movie began. "Just stay over there," she told him.

They watched television together for the next three hours. During commercial breaks, Allison hunted through the files on Rumlow's tablet. When it was over and the credits began, she tossed the TV remote to Barnes, angling and folding herself into the corner of her chair and taking up the tablet again.

"I liked that," Barnes piped up. "The other movies as good?"

"The first and second are," she said, her eyes fixed on her work. "The fourth one was a terrible mistake."

"So, since he drank from the cup, is he immortal now or does it just save your life that one time?"

"I don't know," she shrugged, studying a dossier on Capt. Rogers.

"Is he alive in the fourth movie?"

"I don't think so," she said. "I don't know."

"Want to watch the next one?"

"No," she told him, firm and low, a hint of irritation showing at his questions. "Watch whatever you want."

"You hungry?"

"Sweet Christ!" she snapped, dropping the tablet into her lap and looking up to the ceiling for strength.

Barnes laughed, a deep smug laugh, as he flipped through the channels. Allison finally looked over at him. He gave her a quick glance from the side of his eye and seemed to grin even wider at her exasperation. 

"Come on. I haven't gone any further than 50 feet outside this bunker in three months," he told her. "I'm getting a little cabin feverish. It's time we get going." He looked over at her. "Let me see that tablet. I probably know what to do with it better than you."

"Really?" she doubted, her head lolling to the side.

"That's not what I meant," he said, rolling his eyes. "I mean, you might be missing something. After all, you're SHIELD and I'm, well, more familiar with HYDRA."

Allison debated the merit of his suggestion. There didn't seem to be any code to break in any of the files, the reports were all rather typical. In fact, the information wasn't really at all dissimilar to SHIELD's. She reasoned it was by design for as long as HYDRA had been a symbiotic part of her agency. But anything was worth a shot. She nodded, closing the file on Rogers and holding the tablet out for him to take.

Barnes set aside the remote and stood to cross the room. His smile told her he expected nothing else from her when her hand fell back to the weapon on her bent up leg. He stopped beside her chair, looking at her with a look that asked "really?" and he put his hand on the tablet. She held on for a moment.

"Do anything to this," she began, cocking up her brow, "and I will end you."

He set his palm into the armrest, bending down to stare her in the eye as she pulled and pushed her gun into his gut to warn him back. "Sweetheart, I would love to see you try," he smiled, his voice a low and playful growl.

Barnes stood up, tugging the tablet out of her hand. Allison watched him for a moment before getting up to leave. Walking down the hallway to the barracks and her room, she shook her head to herself. He was right. It was time to get going. She was putting off the inevitable. No matter how weak she felt sometimes, tempted to just walk away, she wouldn't be satisfied until she found Rumlow. Turning into the doorway of her room in the barracks, Allison saw her punch knife lying on her pillow.

Jan 2012

"You know," he began, rolling a thin green needle between his thumb and forefinger, "I'm still finding pine needles around here. I still don't know how you talked me into a real tree."

"Why do you hate Christmas?" Allison asked, with a heartbroken pout.

"I don't hate Christmas," he laughed, flicking the needle at her as she came back to the room from the kitchen. "I'm just sayin', maybe next year we don't get a real tree if neither of us is gonna be around enough to keep it watered."

"Think we'll make it to next Christmas?" she asked, quirking up a playful eyebrow and shooing him to move.

Brock was lined along the couch and bent his knees up to make room for her as she nestled into the end of the couch. "Baby, you and me," he said, gesturing a finger back and forth between her and himself, "we could run the world."

She laughed, eyes crinkling in absolute amusement as she pulled the ends of his sweatshirt down over her hands. Smiling along, Brock rolled off the couch and went to the fireplace. He stoked the glowing coals of the fire and added a couple new logs to burn. Brock came back to the couch, setting in a knee to crawl down and lay along the cushions with his head resting in her lap. Allison smiled down at him, raking a hand gently through his hair as he closed his eyes and hummed softly. 

The quiet moment was interrupted by the ringing of a cell phone. Brock reached out to the phones on the coffee table, checking them for the offending noise. He handed the second phone back to Allison with a low groan. She checked the caller ID and answered, "This is Addams."

Work was rather indifferent to weekend plans. The plan to stay on the couch in front of a fire and ignore the snow outside was no exception. Allison listened along as she was given a quick summary of the assignment that was about to make her give up the warmth of his sweatshirt for that of layered cold gear. She hung up the phone with a protesting but quiet whine.

"What's that about?" Brock asked, tipping his head back to see her.

"Asset recovery," she grumbled. "Cover's blown. Need to get a pair out of Chongqing. ...How come we never do wintertime extractions in warm, sunny places like the Bahamas?"

"That's what vacations are for," he smiled. Brock's phone chimed a message and, while he read the attached mission summary and team activation notification for her squad's deployment, Allison went on.

"That's bullshit. Who has time for a vacation when you can't even make it through one Saturday without getting called in?" she halfheartedly complained. "You can't get a good tan taking a beachhead, ya know."

He chuckled, setting his phone aside to give her his full attention again. "I know a place in Thailand you'd love. I'll take you sometime," he promised her.

She ran her fingers through his hair again, with the hint of a frown. "I somehow don't see us getting away with vacationing together."

"No big deal," he shrugged. "We'll just find a big bad to grab on the way home and write the whole thing off as a business expense."

"You sure know how to sweet talk a girl," she smirked, rustling her hand in his hair. "Anyway, I gotta go. Wheels up in 60. Gonna need all the minutes I can get in this snow."

He raised his head for her to stand, pulling a pillow underneath him as he settled back into the couch. "I want that sweatshirt back," he called to her in the hallway. "You keep ending up in that one and it's my favorite."

Allison came back in, adjusting the sweatshirt's hood over the collar of her peacoat. She perched on the edge of the couch beside him, smiling as she pulled out a pair of gloves from her coat pockets. "Stop giving it to me when I'm cold then," she shrugged.

Brock grabbed a fistful of the shirt and gently pulled her down to kiss him. "You wanna know what I think? I don't think you're ever really cold," he told her, the tip of his nose nuzzling hers. "It's just part of some power play."

She smiled and kissed his stubble covered chin. "Either way, I leave with the shirt."

"Addy, I'd give you the moon if you asked," he promised. 

May 2014

Allison's head snapped to the door and her hand to her gun on the desk, surprised by the knock. She slipped the holster from her weapon and hid the gun behind her back. She moved to the side of the door frame and listened a second before asking who it was. It was Mickelson and he quietly added he was alone. She opened the door for him to enter and quickly shut them in, pistol still in her hand at her side.

"Good," he nodded toward her gun. "Don't lose that."

"What are you doing here?" she asked, moving back to the desk to double check her bag.

"I saw Rollins leave," he told her and looked around the trashed room. "Everything copacetic?"

"Peachy," she quipped. "We were just discussing how much he trusts me."

"Did he do this?" 

"Yeah," she said, stopping to look around with her hands on her hips. "He thought I was his rat."

"Are you?" Eric asked. "Did you tip SHIELD about this place?"

Allison looked him in the eye. "No," she assured him. "It wasn't me."

He studied her for a moment before he nodded. "Are you really coming with us?"

"What else am I going to do?" she pointed out, helplessly.

"Al, if they figure you out-"

"I have to, Mick," she told him. "I don't know what I'm doing here, but I know there's nothing behind me in DC to go back to. I need more answers. I have to do something."

"If you get made, I can't do anything to help you," Eric cautioned her. 

"I don't expect you to," she agreed. "You do what you have to do."

Mickelson looked remorseful. "It's just that-"

"Don't explain anything to me," she interrupted. "You have your family to think about. Julie and the kids, they're counting on you to come home soon."

"I've always been your friend, Al," he reminded her. "You know I love you like family."

"I know," she smiled. "Me too. And I appreciate that. I really do. We both know what the inevitable is though." His lips ticked in a quick frown and he nodded. "When it comes, just stay out of my way."

"You do me a favor though?" he hoped.

Allison nodded. She owed him one for him keeping her secret. "Anything I can."

"Keep an eye on Jules for me," he said. "If something goes sideways and I can't- ...I just want to know someone good's gonna be there if she needs something."

She sighed. "You'll be there for her," she told him. "You'll find a way. Slip out, disappear and start over. I wouldn't stop you. I wouldn't try to find you."

"Thanks," he said. "I wouldn't look for you either."

"We're good then," Allison nodded their mutual understanding and Eric stepped in close to give her a tight hug.

"You remember we love you, Al," he told her. "At the end of all this, maybe we do come across each other again."

"And we'll split a bottle of Jameson," she promised. "I have a feeling we'll have earned it."


	16. Chapter 16

Jan 2013

"Thato Motsepe," Rumlow said, handing the dossier over his desk for Allison to take. "Local baddy, trying to muscle into the Central African Republic's mineral mining operations. Hobbies include murder- including two of our own, kidnapping, extortion, human trafficking, and one miserably failed attempt at stealing Vibranium. He's the apex of this assignment. With Motsepe and his lieutenants out of the way, regional forces should be able to regulate the rest."

Allison opened the folder to see the face of the middle aged South African with a wide scar down his chin and a gap toothed smile. To her right, DiAmato studied the dossier on his target and Solomon, the top shooter from Delta Squad, read over his. She flipped through the pages scanning Motsepe's list of charges and crimes, noting the attached photographs of kidnap victims, who didn't make ransom, filleted open on warehouse floors or in leftover piles of half chewed carcasses in the jungle brush. Her mouth ticked back to one side in bored disapproval and she slid the folder under her arm for later. The man was a monster. Even if he hadn't killed two agents, she understood why the powers that be had decided to level Echo's moral flexibility with him and his under bosses.

"All three operations will occur simultaneously," Rumlow went on with his briefing. "Take out your targets and haul ass to the extraction point. These are Tier 1 targets." He paused, taking a moment to look them each in the eye. "Do not miss. Do not fuck this up. This is a favor, but we are  _not_ welcome, by several interests, in the area to be operating there. You get made, you get out. Otherwise, do whatever it takes to make this happen."

"Yes, Sir," was the answer in unison.

May 2015

"Ahh, there's the master cryptographer," Allison sarcastically observed, as Barnes crossed the dining area of the cafeteria to the kitchen. "Find something I missed?"

He dropped the tablet on the stainless steel counter with a loud thud. "No," he said, flat and unamused.

From her place on the counter, Allison twisted open an Oreo cookie, eating the bare cookie half first. "Told you so."

"There any cookies left?" he asked, looking over the kitchen.

She reached to her right, moving the plastic container over her lap to her left and sliding it down the counter to him. He opened the lid and popped a whole cookie in his mouth, his brow furrowed as the dessert crumbled in his mouth. He crossed his arms and held up a finger to note a thought coming. He swallowed and picked up another Oreo.

"I figured there would be more in there," he said. "Names, coordinates, files. There's nothing really new to me in there."

"What'd you expect?" she shrugged. "It hasn't been connected to a HYDRA server in a year. They wiped this place clean. There's no network connection here and, even if there was, the instant it was restored this place would be compromised."

"Still," he said, eyeing the cookie in his hand, "the way you kept it close, thought there was something valuable in there."

 _There is._ It was his. It has reports he wrote, missions he ran, assessments he made, his music. She could hear him speak when she read the reports and see him when she listened to the music. Maybe she didn't know what she wanted with him anymore, but until she found him, it was all she had.

"Just trying to keep my cards close," she said, casually dismissive, before eating the other half of her cookie.

"Some cards," he snorted quietly, eating another Oreo. 

"Better than nothing," she pointed out. 

Seeing her empty hands, he took another cookie for himself and slid the container back to Allison. "Before I came here," he said, "I was moving between old bases and facilities I remembered them taking me to, that I ran missions out of. The only way we're going to find him, or anyone else for that matter, is to start going door to door."

He was right. Allison nodded, pulling apart another cookie. She looked down at the treat in her hand, beginning to run scenarios through her head on how to proceed. 

"If we're gonna go out and make new friends," he noted, "I'm gonna need some weapons."

Her gaze still down, she cocked her head to study him from the side of her eye. "Yeah," she nodded.

"What have you got here?" he asked.

Allison put the cookie back together and set it aside. She dusted off her hands and said, "Everything."

Jan 2013

"Almighty- Almighty. This is Stronghold. Activity at Yankee. Tango on scene. Stronghold is green."

"Stronghold, this is Almighty. Copy activity, Tango on scene."

"Almighty. This is Archangel. Standing by at X-Ray. Archangel is green."

"Almighty has Archangel standing by."

"Almighty- Almighty. This is Seraphim. Standing by at Zulu. Seraphim is green."

"Almighty. Roger all. Mission is green. Standby for mission go- no go."

Sitting in a hotel room in Bangui, Allison winked into the scope of her McMillan sniper rifle and scanned the steps of the restaurant a half mile down the perfectly angled road. She chewed a piece of watermelon flavored gum, absentmindedly blowing small bubbles every now and then. She checked her watch and called for an update from her surveillance support team. Her target appeared to be only marginally off schedule for his dinner meeting. She still had about 15 minutes to wait.

"Host, this is Almighty Actual," came Rumlow's voice through Allison's earpiece. She smiled at hearing him oversee the operation. "Mission is go. You are clear to engage. I say again, mission is go."

"Almighty- Almighty. This is Stronghold. Shot out...Tango down. Tango down."

"Stronghold, this is Almighty. Copy- Tango down."

"Almighty Actual. Kill confirmed. Stronghold is clear," Brock advised.

With the mission underway, Allison grew impatient. She checked her watch and looked over the street below. Looking around the room, she cracked her gum and tapped a fingernail on the stand of her rifle. The sun was set and the sky was beginning to cloud over and she wanted to get her assignment over with before the weather came in and the wind changed.

"Almighty Actual for Seraphim. Switch to Comms 7 secure."

"Roger that. Switching." Allison changed the channel on her radio.

"Seraphim, are you chewing gum?" he asked, his voice a mix of doubt and mild amusement.

"Affirm," she said with a smile, peeking back into her scope. "Just a little bored, Sir."

"Well, knock it off," he told her. "The whole TOC can hear you."

"Sorry," she laughed.

"Stronghold's on the move to the rally point," he told her. "Everything's on schedule. You guys should all be clearing soon. Get that damned gum out 'a your mouth and switch back to primary."

"Roger that." Allison tucked the gum into her cheek and adjusted her radio. "Almighty- Almighty. Seraphim on 1. How copy?"

"Seraphim. Almighty. You're five by five. Much better."

She sneered and mumbled to herself about the smart mouthed controller. "'Much better', my ass. ...Little shit." She straightened up as DiAmato came over the air.

"Almighty- Almighty. Archangel has Tango on scene. Engaging Tango...Shot out...Tango down."

"Copy- Tango down, Archangel. Standby for confirmation...Almighty. Kill confirmed. Archangel is clear." 

"Seraphim- Seraphim. Romeo 6. Tango is mobile. ETA- 7 mikes."

"Seraphim. Roger that."

Allison perched herself on the edge of the worn leather chair by the window. Her surveillance counterpart counted down updates in her ear. She sat forward, hugging the rifle into her shoulder and nuzzling her cheek against the stock. She watched down the road, the world seeming to slow and quiet as she drew long, measured breaths. The minutes passed and a dust covered, silver Land Rover pulled to a stop in front of the restaurant down her line of fire. The doors of the SUV opened.

"Almighty- Almighty. Seraphim. Target on scene."

Motsepe stood on the sidewalk, buttoning the front of his grey suit jacket closed as he looked around. Allison's fingertip bent carefully into the trigger guard and she breathed in. Motsepe held out his hand to take a briefcase from his driver and she pulled.

"Shot out...Tango down."

May 2015

Allison pressed her thumb to the reader beside the armory door. Barnes stood a respectful distance over her left shoulder while he waited for her to open the door of the weapons vault. She stepped in ahead of him, turning on the light and angling herself along the wall so she could watch him. Barnes entered the room with a low and impressed whistle.

"They left all this here?" he asked, looking around at the racks on the floor and walls lined with weapons. 

"Some of it," she nodded, watching him pull a Milkor grenade launcher from the wall for inspection. "Some of it I brought in."

He looked up from the weapon in his hand and grinned at her. "I like your style."

"We'll sleep here tonight," she told him. "We can do load out in the morning and I'll find us a car. Then, you can drive."

"Gonna miss the old homestead," he said, wistful as he put the launcher back in its rack and picked up a knife.

"You can't be serious," she dryly insisted.

"Why not?" he asked, returning the knife and selecting an automatic rifle from a rack on the floor. He looked at her over his shoulder. "It's our first apartment together. First place we tried to kill each other, first kiss. There's a lot of memories in these walls."

"Oh, for fuck's sake," she groaned, rolling her eyes.

Barnes chuckled mischievously. "Mark my words, Kate," he said, lining his eye down the iron sights of the M-4 toward the floor. "One day, you'll look back on all we had here and you'll miss it."

"Doubtful," she scoffed.

He racked the rifle with the others and started to cross the room toward her, smiling. She gave him a skeptical look, tilting her head and palming the grip of the gun on her leg. He stopped in front of her, his eyes ticking down to her gun hand as the pistol came up smooth and pointed into his middle. Barnes looked back up at her with a lopsided smile.

"See?" he asked. "All these sweet little moments we shared? That's what you'll miss, you trigger happy psychopath." 

Barnes leaned forward, reaching around her to the table behind her and carefully pulling off an empty duffel bag. His charming smile still fixed in place, he took his time moving back, his face dangerously close to the side of hers. She scowled at him from the side of her eye and he stopped. There was a brief standoff before the muscles in Allison's arms locked tight, gripping her gun with all her strength as she felt the weight of his metal hand trap the slide and push aside the pistol. She raised her forearm to his chest as she shifted her weight to move away from him and the table.

The gun apparently no longer a concern, pointed away and rendered inoperable by his metal hand wrapped over the barrel, Barnes hooked his arm around her and pulled her close. He kissed her, his lips strong but sweet against her disapproving frown. Allison let go of the gun, pulling the dagger from its sheath on her thigh and pressing the point against the skin under his jaw. She felt him smile against her lips and he leaned his head back from hers slowly. 

Her heart was pounding in her chest and he was as confident as ever. The blade still at his neck, she felt the holster on her thigh dip from the weight of her gun being put back in its home and heard the click of the retention snapped back in place. She felt only slightly more at ease knowing he no longer had her pistol. Her glare was menacing in contrast to his easy smile as his now empty left hand came up to curl softly around her knife wielding wrist. Her eyes flicked to his hand on her arm and she felt his other smooth down her spine to rest at the small of her back. He came back to her, methodically slow, to kiss her again. This time, she wasn't so angry.

She surprised herself when her features softened and tense muscles began to relax. Her arm, crossed defensively over his chest, lowered, resting her hand on his arm and the pressure of her knifepoint on his throat disappearing. She palmed the hilt of the knife to lay the blade safely along her arm and pulled her hand away. Muscle memory led the dagger back to its home in the rig at her side and she wrapped her arm around his neck to kiss him back, suddenly aware that it had been a year since anyone had touched her with any kind of affection and realizing how much she liked it when he did.

She lost herself again, forgetting where she was and who she was with for a long moment. Coming back to her senses, Allison pulled away. She turned to step out from between him and the table and he let her go, a bit reluctantly. She stepped to the wide open comfort of the middle of the room and turned to face him. Her temper flaring at him, and herself, she raised a finger and opened her mouth to make a point that would eventually come. He leaned into the edge of the table and put down the empty duffle bag to cross his arms and wait.

"What the hell?" she finally breathed. "You just can't do that." She paced a couple steps. "And you wonder why my hand is always on a gun? _Really_?"

"So, what you're sayin' is, you didn't like it?" he quipped. "Because I'm willing to give it another shot if you are."

"Gah!" she groaned, infuriated by his levity. "You're...incorrigible."

"What?" he shrugged. "You've been here with me for three months, haven't said a word about a boyfriend, no sentimental photos around. I don't see a wedding ring, so I doubt you're married. So, what is it?"

She fumed, her nostrils flaring. Allison clenched a fist at her side and her jaw worked in frustration. She didn't have any of those things anymore. The photos there had been were kept under the figurative lock and key of an encrypted program on a hidden drive, away from any eyes that would use them to compromise her or turn her in for fraternizing. The keepsakes were abandoned at home. There was never a ring and the idea that there would be was crushed a year ago when the Triskelion collapsed down on her world.

"You can't do that," she reiterated. "Get your head right." She said it as much for his warning as hers. "This is not part of the deal and if this is going to be a problem, I'll just as soon keep working on my own."

He blinked and gave a subtle nod. "Alright," he agreed, holding up his hands. "I'm sorry. I was just having a little fun."

Allison studied him a moment through leveled eyes. "Pack what you can carry," she told him. "We'll leave at first light, head into town, and I'll get us a car."

May 2014

Stepping into the hallway, the bunker was eerily quiet. Looking left then right, she dared to take a chance to investigate the war room. She made her way quickly through the hall and stopped to listen at the closed door. She heard men inside. She couldn't make out what they were saying, but she knew better than to stick around and wait to be caught snooping. She made her way toward the front of the bunker and was stopped by her name being called behind her. Standing at the doorway between the stairway down and the farmhouse basement, she turned to see Emery coming up behind her and carrying a pair of overstuffed burn bags under one arm.

"Here," he said, reaching the bags out toward Allison. "Do me a favor. Take these out back on your way out."

"Sure thing," she nodded, taking a bag in each hand as Emery turned to go back to the bunker.

The door shut behind him and Allison scanned the room around her. She was alone and the house above was quiet. She took a knee, opening up the first burn bag to sift through. She dug and flipped through the papers inside, looking for anything stamped with a high clearance or anything else to show its value. Nothing stood out and she moved on to the second bag. The bag seemed almost as useless as the first until she found a map folded up in the bottom of the bag. She pulled it out, giving it a quick inspection to find several pinholes in its face. She folded the map and stuffed it into her backpack before gathering up the bags and heading upstairs.

Outside, in the back of the house, a pair of former agents manned the fire pit and a large drum beside it being used as makeshift incinerators. She added the two bags Emery had given her to the pile of other bags waiting to burn before she hurried around to the front of the house. In front, the four SUV's of the first chalk were already running. Somewhere overnight, the SHIELD emblems had been removed from the vehicles and Allison suspected the plates were probably changed as well.

Mickelson was standing outside one of the SUV's in line. He straightened up when he saw Allison come around the side of the house. He opened the rear passenger door and inclined his head toward the vehicle for her to join him. Crossing through the yard, she took a long, deep breath. She slid across the backseat and Eric followed her in, giving a pat to the back of the driver's headrest to signal him they were ready to go. The driver radioed to the other vehicles they could move out. Beside her, Eric gave her leg a nudge and sent her an almost imperceptible nod. Her secret was safe for now. 


	17. Chapter 17

May 2012

A hard morning started at 5:30. After a late debriefing, a middle of the night prep or operation, night training, or whatever else led to disrupted sleeping patterns, 5:30 came like a weight on the chest. A good morning started at 5:30. After a restful sleep, in a warm bed, with strong arms hugging her close, 5:30 came with a soft kiss. A good morning could still be had on her own. Getting to bed early and sleeping soundly, 5:30 found Allison feeling rested and energetic. But the world started every day at 5:30, regardless.

She was in the kitchen, chewing on an apple flavored protein bar and sipping water while she checked her phone before her daily, pre-dawn 3 mile run. The apartment was relaxingly silent and dark. She navigated the kitchen by the small light over the stove and the soles of her running shoes barely made a sound. Keys scratching in the lock of the front door and the light sound of a heavy duffel bag settling by the door made her smile. Footsteps came toward the kitchen and she popped in the last bite of her pre-run breakfast as Brock stopped to lean into the kitchen doorframe.

"Mornin', babe," he said, muffling the words with his hands rubbing up and drawing heavily down his face.

"Good morning," she replied, pecking a quick kiss to his cheek as she passed him toward the garbage can. "Didn't expect to see you here."

"Just got in," he told her, scratching at the back of his down turned head. "Haven't seen you in two weeks. I missed your face...Figured I'd come see you, catch a couple hours before I go back for the paperwork. I'm fuckin' beat."

"I missed you, too," she smiled. "Stay as long as you want. I'll pack some stuff and workout at the Triskelion so I don't bother you."

"You don't have to do tha- Is that my fuckin’ sweatshirt again?” he asked, too plaintively to be mad, looking up at her as she walked by him again. The realization perked up his energy. “My god, woman. I haven’t seen it since winter and it’s been here with you the whole damn time?”

“You left it here,” she told him. “I’m just putting it to good use.”

“It’s not even cold. It’s, like, 60 degrees outside,” he insisted, gesturing a hand toward the inky morning outside the window. "You’re wearing shorts for Christ’s sake."

“You like it when I run around in your shirts,” she reminded him.

"Well, yeah, but," he trailed off. He followed her to the counter and grabbed a fistful of material at her shoulders in each hand, pulling her in close while he eyed the shirt. “My sweatshirt,” he said, sounding wounded, before he addressed the shirt directly. “I’ll get you back someday, buddy. I swear.”

“Well, I guess now we know who you love more,” she quipped.

She swatted at his hands and he let go to slide them down over her hips and underneath the shirt hem to wrap around her waist. “I only have eyes for you, baby,” he purred, backing her against the counter to kiss her neck with a devilish smile before his face deadpanned. “But I also only got one favorite sweatshirt, so somethin’s gotta give.”

Allison scoffed and tried to wriggle out of his hold. Brock laced his arms tighter around her waist, holding her to him as he hunched down for his mouth to kiss and nip at her throat. She let out a yelp, as his hand slipped under her shirt and up to tickle at her side. She writhed and pushed in his grasp, trying to get away when he dipped low and scooped her up over his shoulder. He gave her a slap on the ass and carried her, as she kicked and laughingly protested, to the bedroom.

"I gotta go," she plaintively insisted. "I'm not gonna have time to run and do everything else before formation."

"We'll get your cardio in. Promise," he wickedly teased, siding through the bedroom door.

"I thought you were tired," she reminded him.

"I got a second wind," he explained, bending forward and dropping her on her back to the mattress. "And I'll be taking my sweatshirt back."

May 2015

Allison took what she could carry. She repacked her bailout bag with the HYDRA intel she recovered from Rumlow's home; a pair of the unmarked standard uniforms, a full HYDRA uniform, and a body con uniform for use for whatever operations she would plan with Barnes; some extra pieces of civilian clothes; and a few bottles of water and some MRE's in case their work found them bedded down on recon. She carried a duffel packed full of weapons, ammunition, and gear- a sniper rifle, a pair of M-4's, smoke and gas canisters, a mask, body armor, her drop rigs, a few knives, a Glock, a pair of Smith and Wesson M&P's, an NVG monocle, a tac helmet, and all the grenades and ammo she could stuff in the spaces in between. Between her gear and the armaments that Barnes packed into a pair of duffle bags for himself, they were ready to stage the invasion of a small country. Barnes gave her an impressed nod when she slung on the two bags weighing an easy 75 pounds and led the way out of the bunker.

"You got all that?" he asked, falling into step beside her as they headed back toward civilization. "It's a long walk."

"Yeah," she scoffed, giving him a look from the side of her eye. "Why? Need me to carry some of yours?"

"I like how you almost make these little jokes, but then you ruin them by being an absolute bitch at the end," he told her, with a discerning squint in his eye and a crooked smile on his face.

They both shared a side-eye look at the other for several steps. Allison cracked a small smirk of her own and shook her head, as she turned her gaze forward again. Beside her, she heard a quiet snort of amusement.

"How'd you get so tough, Kate?" he asked.

"What are you talking about?"

He hooked his thumbs under the straps around his shoulders. "Look at you," he said, inclining his head her way. "You hump out, like, 80-odd pounds of gear, you don't take shit- probably from anyone, take control of everything around you, you never relax. That would exhaust a lotta people."

"Let alone a girl, right?" she questioned, smugly.

"Anyone in general," he maintained.

"Can't afford to relax nowadays," she shrugged.

"Nowadays?" he repeated. "So, there was a day you were normal?"

She shook her head as he chuckled, amused with himself. "I had a life," she conceded, a little aggravated. "I had a good job. I had a nice place, good friends. Too busy for a dog, but, yeah, there was a normal day once."

"No family? No guy?" he went on.

"No family," she said with a tinge of regret. "Mom died a while ago, fell out with the others. No big loss there."

"God damn, you're cold," he smiled.

"Makes the job easier," she noted, bluntly.

"How'd you get hooked up with SHIELD, or whoever, anyway?" Barnes asked, folding his brow in curiosity.

"I'm smart," she said, flatly.

Barnes chuckled. "One would think the opposite lately."

"Graduated high school and college early, degrees in foreign language and psychology with a minor in political science, notably high scores on every IQ and assessment test I've ever been given, speak five languages- fluently," she ticked off.

"Okay. You might be smart," he admitted. "But nobody just walks into SHIELD and gets signed up, even if SHIELD was HYDRA."

"I did four years with the Army," she elaborated. "I was a Human Intelligence Collector, got some cred from some deployments to Afghanistan in support of GWOT. I applied to a few three-letter agencies before I got out, knowing it takes a while for vetting. I was recruited out of the CIA's candidate pool in '06."

"How old were you?" he asked, stepping a long leg over the trunk of a fallen tree in his way.

"When SHIELD called?" she clarified. "24."

"You were just a baby," he mused with a cocky grin.

"How old were you when you signed up for your war?" she countered.

He nodded and moved on. "So, when did you become an agent?"

"Did a couple years as a Language Officer for Clandestine Services," she said. "Applied and was accepted to the Agent Training Program in 2008."

"You miss it?"

She nodded. "Miss a lot of things," she admitted, a little softer than she'd spoken lately. Allison raised her chin a little higher and her stride was a little longer. "Come on," she told him. "We're burning daylight."

Jan 2013

Allison had crossed the lobby of the hotel, another tourist going out for a late dinner. Her canvas shoes making a soft squeak over the marble floor, she fell in behind a group of hotel guests walking down the street. She checked her phone for an incoming message advising her that her partners had reached the extraction point. To the casual observer, she was just another brunette in khaki shorts and a loose cotton top taking in the scenery. The subtle ways she used to check for tails and threats would be missed by most trained eyes, as well. She had moved for years in and out of dozens of cities in dozens of countries without so much as a second look from local law enforcement and foreign counterparts alike. She had never been made. She was as close to invisible as a ghost, which is why finding the tail two blocks from the hotel was so surprising.

The group she followed was coming into the busy shopping and dining area. Allison stayed close as they slowed down, milling through the market stands and store fronts. She slipped around into the crowd and picked up her pace. She ducked around a building corner to get a better look at her shadow and see if she was really being followed. When the man slowed down to crane his head around over the crowd, she knew she was right. But how the hell did he know?

She stuck to the side of the building, following along the narrow alley to the next block and turning to head south. Protocol for a standard exfil dictated passive communication through her secure phone. The parameters had changed. She took out her phone, as she quickly crossed the street and changed directions to the West. Allison tapped the screen to get her GPS coordinates and discretely put her hand to the side of her head to activate the comms device tucked into her ear.

"Almighty- Almighty," she said, clear, but low, through barely moving lips. "This is Seraphim. Priority."

The controller replied quickly. "Seraphim, this is Almighty. Send it."

"Seraphim. SitRep. I have one unknown on my six," she calmly advised. "He's been on me 3 mikes plus. Diverting west from rendezvous. Advise."

There was a brief pause and Allison stayed on the move while the operator relayed her update. "Almighty copies all. Copy one unknown. Unknown designated 'Variable 1'. Status?"

"Seraphim is green," she said, catching sight of her tail again. At the next turn, she spotted his partner. She made another turn to be sure, seeing the two men meet up on the corner behind her. "Seraphim for Almighty. Check count. Count is two. I'm still foot mobile."

"Almighty copies- check count. Count is two. Designated 'Variable 1' and '2'."

"Seraphim, this is Almighty Actual," Rumlow came in. "Verify count is two."

"Almighty Actual. Count is two. Approximately 80 meters."

"Seraphim, can you ID Variable 1 or 2?"

"Negative."

There was a pause while the command assessed her situation and Allison cut the next corner fast and moved north. The two men behind her were catching up. She took the moment in their blind spot to race down the next block before juking into an alley to try and double back and get back on course to the extraction point.

"Almighty Actual. Seraphim, ping your location," Brock instructed.

Allison sent out the info from her phone. "Ping sent."

"Almighty Actual. Ping received," he advised. "Sending new coordinates for extraction point. Push north to link up with Host. Almighty Actual for Romeo 6."

"Romeo 6. We're hearing it."

"Romeo 6, return. Push West," Rumlow directed. "Link up with Host. Assist extract Seraphim at new location. How copy, all?"

"Seraphim- solid copy."

"Romeo 6- solid copy."

"Host- solid copy. En route to new extraction."

"Comms are open wide," the controller advised, letting everyone hear and interact without the formality of radio etiquette.

"What do we got in the area?" Rumlow asked. "I want eyes. I wanna know who the fuck these guys are."

"Uh, CIA has satellite overhead in 10 mikes," the controller advised. "USAF has AWACS heading out for the coast. LX-N90453 is approximately 75 klicks north of the AO."

"Give them to me," Rumlow directed. "Designate the Sentry 'Overlord', divert them immediately, and tell 'em to open up the throttle. Tap every local camera. I want it yesterday, people." In the background of the channel, the operator could be heard re-tasking the surveillance plane and commandeering the satellite. "Seraphim, where're they at?" Brock asked.

"50 meters and closing," she advised, sprinting across the next intersection through traffic. Checking over her shoulder, her variables had officially begun the chase. She didn't need to hide her looks over her shoulder anymore. Allison cursed under her breath, catching sight of a third shadow as she ran in between people and cars on the street. Her voice was louder over the radio, a compensation for the extra breath of running and adrenalin. "Almighty. Seraphim. Flash. Count is three. I'm evasive- downtown market square, south to grid 2."

"Almighty- Almighty. This is Overlord," the AWACS pilot hailed, joining the frequency. "ETA...6 minutes. Advise target description and good location, when available."

"Almighty Actual. Seraphim, ping your location," Rumlow asked again, the tension in his voice rising slightly as she sent the info. He seemed to be as mad at the situation as she was. "Romeo 6. Push south to grid 2. Un-ass yourselves and get back in there, _now_. Get her out. Seraphim, you're cleared hot."

Allison didn't have time to pull a weapon. From both directions on the road, a pair of SUVs skidded to a stop. One vehicle jumped the curb in front of Allison, a fraction from striking her and effectively cutting her off, and several weapons were pointed at her from the open car windows. A pair of armed men rushed from the vehicles to her, shouting commands in French for her to stand still and raise her hands. The first two men who had been following her grabbed her from behind an instant later, one yanking a black hood over her head and the other binding her wrists with thick cable ties behind her. This wasn't a reaction to Allison's hit by loyal henchmen. It was a professional grab.

The controller called out coordinates to the inbound flight crew. Dragged and pushed into the backseat of one of the vehicles, Allison didn't want to risk whoever had taken her having access to the operational info coming over her radio and called out to cut traffic on the channel.

"Silence! Silence! Si-"

A fast hand over her throat cut off her air and her order. The butt of a rifle to the side of her head put her into a haze. She heard Brock trying to take hold of the operation again.

"Seraphim. Status!...Advise, Seraphim...Romeo 6- where the fuck are you?!"

"Romeo 6. 10 seconds."

The vehicle she was in spun tires and took off fast. Allison was jerked to the side as one of her captors pulled at the bag over her shoulder to search it. She could barely see passing streetlights through the fabric over her head and the hand at her throat kept her from speaking.

"Romeo 6. Almighty Actual. No joy. I say again- no joy, negative contact. Seraphim is not here."

"Seraphim, this is Almighty Actual. Location! Seraphim, do you copy?!... _Fuck_."

"Romeo 6. Almighty. Check AO. Attempt to reacquire Seraphim. Host is inbound to assist. ETA- less than one."

"Almighty Actual. Seraphim, do you copy?! Do you copy, Seraphim?!...Where the fuck are my cameras?!"

The hood was ripped from her head and a pair of hands turned her face roughly to look her over. The man pushed her head to the side and hooked his finger into her ear, stripping out her earpiece. The last thing she heard was Brock's voice sending out her call sign to beg her to speak again, the heat of the moment getting the better of him and his tone angry, urgent, and lined with a hint of desperation.


	18. Chapter 18

May 2015

Allison slowed to a stop off the side of the road. She hit the trunk release on her recently acquired Ford Focus and stepped out to the back of the vehicle. From the edge of the tree line, Barnes emerged carrying their equipment. Allison reached out as she moved to meet him and he passed off her gear. Loading the trunk, Barnes looked over the car.

"This was the best you could find?" he asked with a half-smile.

"Low key, popular, fuel efficient," she listed. "Yeah."

"Next time I get to pick," he told her with a smirk.

"You wanna get made?" she asked, getting into the passenger seat as he got in to drive. "By all means, take your metal ass and go steal a car in broad daylight."

He chuckled at her as he adjusted the mirrors and pulled away from the curb. "I'm more subtle than you think."

"I haven't seen a subtle thing about you," she pointed out. "You're starting from zero, in my opinion. You may be a good assassin, but your shit for spycraft."

"And what? You're gonna teach me?" he laughed.

"Can't teach those who're unwilling to learn," she smugly said.

"I know spycraft," he assured her. "I just don't have a need for it right now. ...Could probably teach you a few things."

Allison scoffed. "Doubtful."

"Why's that?" he asked. "'Cause you know how to steal cars and break into clinics and remember your 'Agent 101' on interrogation?"

"I got a resumé longer than yours collected, tin man," she bit back, arrogantly and a little insulted by his flippant assumption.

"Oh, yeah?" he doubted. "Four years Army, couple years reading 'scripts for intel. SHIELD agents are a dime a dozen, sweetheart."

"I made better rank than you," she noted. "I went out as a Staff Sergeant. And my two years reading transcripts was me overseeing ops and cultivating sources in the field for Clandestine Services. My time as an agent was barely two years before I became an operator."

"An operator?" he repeated, glancing away from the road at her. He scoffed. "For what division?"

"STRIKE."

Allison hadn't said the name out loud in almost a year. There had never been a living soul outside of the Triskelion who knew she was part of the division. She was a Language Officer to her friends, safe and studious in a dark office in front of a computer for all they knew. She felt his stare at the side of her head and turned to look.

"You're STRIKE?" he balked, suspicious and disbelieving. Allison nodded and went back to watching the road ahead of them. "Alright. Which team?"

"That's classified," she said, matter of factly.

"If you tell me, you'll have to kill me?" he suggested, with a laugh.

"Even if things were different, if SHIELD hadn't fallen and you were on the right side of things," she said, "you still wouldn't rate to know."

"SHIELD fell," he reminded her. "What's the point of keeping their secrets now?"

"Because they're mine to keep," she told him. "I took an oath."

"Loyal to a fault, aren't you?" he said, soberly.

Allison shrugged. "This I'll defend."

"How can you still defend them?"

"Because they weren't always HYDRA," she stated. "We protected people, kept the world safe from itself for a while. There was something good there once. You should know. You and The Commandos, Agent Carter, Col. Phillips- it all started there."

"A fuckin' pipe dream," he shook his head. "I only ever met one person as gullible about freedom, duty, and honor and shit as you."

"It's not gullibility," Allison corrected. "It's respect for what it means if we don't have it."

"Fuckin' Steve all over again," Barnes muttered, with a fond smirk.

"Steve? Steve Rogers?" she asked. "Hope you don't think I'd take that as an insult. He was a good man."

"What do you mean 'was'?" Barnes asked. "He still is."

"Capt. Rogers was killed last year," Allison told him, her voice tinged with regret at the loss and having to be the one to tell him, "when the Insight carriers went down. I'm sorry. I thought you knew."

"Steve Rogers is still alive," he told her, watching her in between quick takes of the road in front of him.

Feb 2011

Allison clutched the styrofoam cup of coffee near her chest, partly for warmth and partly as a strategic position to maintain control of the cup in her weakened state. With a poncho liner wrapped around her shoulders, she shivered occasionally from exhaustion, fighting the drop in her core temperature as her body insisted on shutting down and sleep. She had been awake for three straight days; 77 and a half hours according to the orientation the doctor gave her before the debriefing began. Spread out around the chairs and tables of Briefing Room 3, the Commander stood at the podium at the head of the room. Behind him, the large screen on the wall was split into eight different videos running simultaneously. One window in the screen for each of the new operators for STRIKE Teams Bravo, Charlie, and Echo.

The videos showed the new STRIKE Team members suffering their last 24 hours of counter-interrogation training. They had been subjected to 22 straight days of pride-and-ego down; hooding; disorientation; deprivations of sleep, food, water, and warmth;and psychological and physical torture, some assaults just a hair short of all out sexual abuse. After all, they were still her employer. The UN Convention Against Torture, Title 18, Geneva- they violated them all in the name of preparation. Injecting them with epinephrine to keep them awake and sodium thiopental to test their resistance, the world's militaries had nothing on the thoroughness of STRIKE's SERE courses. A doctor checked vitals after each evolution of the program, but never spoke to the subject of the exercises or to the masked administrators of the torture. The doctors signed their consent to continue the program with a simple nod before leaving the room and the senior operators continued doing their absolute worst. One man resigned his new commission after the second week.

"I'm not gonna pat your hand and ask you 'why do we do this?'," Rumlow said, winding down his debriefing. "You know why. We plan and we train for everything. We plan and we train to _win_ , every time. That's all we do- win. ...But if we never lost, we wouldn't have those stars in the marble downstairs. ...If we fail to plan for 'if we lose', we die. ...You didn't die." He paused for emphasis of the reminder, looking them each in the eye before continuing. "You. didn't. die. ...And, if one day, some mother fuckin' skinny, some goddamn haji, or any other fuck mook calls my desk and tells me they got one of _my_ fuckin' operators? ...I'm gonna laugh and wish them luck. Because they won't do shit to you like we just did," he assured them, pointing back to the monitor behind him. "Fuck that. And fuck them. ...You did not die. And you sure as fuck ain't gonna roll over and die for them. And if, by some curse of God himself, you do- If somehow, some Herculean monster breaks you in two before I find you and bring you home...I will see you at the gates of Valhalla with the rest of the warriors before you."

He took another look across the weary faces and slumped bodies in front of him. "I'm proud of you. ...You're all on ten days R&R. You must be cleared by Medical before you leave this building. Med staff is here to escort you to sick call," he said, jutting his chin to the back of the room. "Once you're released, you'll be transferred to the barracks for observation with follow up instructions. Do not disregard those instructions. You'll fall back into rotation with your teams at the end of the ten day cycle- _with Medical's approval only._ There's no penalty for needing more time. Let your doc know what's going on and we'll reassess at the end of the week and get you out to the farm for recovery. Do _not_ try to bullshit your way back early. CFB?"

Together the weakened operators mustered an uncoordinated, "Yes, sir."

"Alright," he nodded. Rumlow motioned his hand to the medical staff in the back of the room. "Dismissed...They're all yours, Doc."

May 2014

They drove for hours, Allison and Mickelson sharing brief and silent glances occasionally, as the HYDRA chalk rolled North, somewhere along the border between Pennsylvania and New York. If she didn't know any better, it would have been any Team convoy to anywhere. There was a cooler of drinks in the back, a mutually tolerable classic rock station on the radio, and familiar faces like there had been too many times to count. 

The road they followed trimmed down to a lane in each direction and the buildings and homes became smaller and more rundown as they went. Eventually, the cracked pavement and overgrown weeds told her the place had been abandoned some time ago. The landscape flattened and cleared on the way through a large, but empty, industrial park. A series of concrete warehouses and two story buildings was at the end of the road and marked their destination. They passed slowly through an armed checkpoint, manned by a mix of faces Allison recognized from the Triskelion and some she hadn't seen before, and were waved on toward an open warehouse dock at the East end of the compound where another former agent directed the vehicle to line up inside. The warehouse housed several other vehicles and a pair of Sprinter Quinjets. With the vehicles parked, they were escorted to the building nearest the makeshift hangar.

Allison was escorted inside with the others. She followed them up to a large conference room on the second floor. There was a large, oblong table in the center of the room, surrounded by enough seating to accommodate about 25 people. She took a seat with the others, noting the thick, bullet-resistant glass and the smart-tint film over the windows that prevented anyone, even thermal scans, from seeing inside. Rollins took a seat at the far end of the table. The room was quiet for several minutes, except for a few low and social conversations from a few places around the table.

The room's attention turned toward the entrance, when a soldier outside opened the door for a middle aged man in an expensive looking navy blue suit to walk in. He tugged down the end of his shirt sleeve as he walked, fussing with a cuff link. Allison didn't recognize him, but he walked straight to Jack and held out his hand to shake with a confident smile. Jack stood to greet him with his own cocky smirk.

"Well," the man sighed, "Rogers really fucked that up."

A stifled laugh shook Rollins' shoulders, as he let go of the man's hand to take his seat again. "He won't be doing that again."

"It'll be months before they fish him out of the bottom of the Potomac," the suit agreed, with a smirk that broadened to a smile. "Even a super soldier can drown." A few chuckles went through the room. "Still, it's a shame about Insight." The man turned to look down the table. "My apologies to you all for you having to leave Virginia in a rush like that. The leak has been found. It's been addressed."

"What's the roster look like?" Rollins asked, running a hand over his slicked back hair. "Any word on Bingo?" 

"A work in progress,” he noted, looking back to Rollins. "We're still recovering assets and dead drops. We should have a complete picture in the next 24-36 hours. But, no. Nothing on Rumlow, yet." Jack nodded and rubbed at his chin. "In the meantime," the man continued, looking back at the others, "rest up. See Medical, if you need. We'll have barracks assignments for you shortly. ...Hail HYDRA."

"Hail HYDRA," Allison joined the chorus of the others.

The unnamed man gave them a nod and smile before he turned to go. As he exited the room, a new soldier passed him in the doorway. The HYDRA agent read off names and room numbers from a tablet in his hand. The double agents began to rise from their seats and file out of the room. Mickelson subtly elbowed Allison to follow him as he stood. Across the way, she entered another shabby exteriored building. The small three story barracks could easily house 100 soldiers, more if men were bunked in triple in the comfortably large rooms. Allison's assignment came without a roommate and Eric was only a few doors away.

In the privacy of her room, Allison fell back into her bed with a heavy sigh. Brock wasn't there either. _Yet_ , she reminded herself. They were still bringing people in.

She sat up, pulling her bag into her lap. She took out Rumlow's tablet and unlocked the device. Allison set her pillow against the wall and leaned back. She started skimming the files and reports, trying to learn HYDRA's secrets as quickly as she could.

June 2015

The man in the grey uniform came forward, teeth grit in anger and frustration, and the black hood was dropped over Allison's head, with a rope cinching tight around her neck to keep it there, as her world went dark and she gasped for breath.

She snapped up in her seat, hand at her back in a fraction of a second and fingers curled round the grip of her gun. Her eyes searched wildly around her as her chest rose and fell quickly. She swallowed hard and slowly pulled her hand forward again. Rubbing her palms into her eyes, she drew in a deep breath, holding it for a count and breathing out the same.

"Kate?" 

Barnes' voice was low and soothing. Allison flinched just the same, her hands falling from her face and her head turning to her side quick. It was dark outside, the waning moon barely making shapes discernible in the car, but it was enough to shadow the lines of his face and put a small glint in his eyes watching her carefully.

"You okay?" he asked, gently.

"Fine," she said, shaking her head clear on the next inhale.

She moved some loose hairs behind her ear, feeling the sweat on her forehead. His look told her he saw it there, too. Allison shifted in the laid back passenger seat, trying to settle in to go back to sleep. Her eyes were closed for only a moment before she looked over to the seat beside her, feeling Barnes' gaze on her. She folded her arms and turned her head away, trying to get comfortable.

"What?" she grumbled.

"What happened?" he asked.

"Nothing," she told him, nuzzling into the headrest and trying to find a way to relax again. "Sorry if I woke you."

"Didn't look like nothing," he pressed gently. 

"Well, it was," she persisted.

It was quiet for a moment before she opened her eyes at the sound of his voice again. "I have nightmares, too," he admitted. "It's alright. It happens." Allison didn't respond. "You wanna talk about it?"

"No," she told him, looking him in the eye. "I'm fine."

"78169736," he said. "Is that your serial number?"

Allison bristled and leveled her gaze. "How di-"

"You said it in your sleep," he told her. "It took me a couple times to catch it, you were so quiet." Allison didn't reply, but he went on. "When questioned, should I become a prisoner of war, I am required to give name, rank, service number, and date of birth. I will evade answering further questions to the utmost of my ability. I will make no oral or written statements disloyal to my country and its allies or harmful to their cause. Military Code of Conduct, Article five, 1955. You were in the Army. I'm guessing SHIELD has their own version. ...HYDRA did. ...Was that yours for the Army or SHIELD? ...Mine's 32557038."

"I know," she nodded once. Allison swallowed. "They had something like that."

She looked away, turning to face the roof of the car. Allison reflexively hardened at the touch on her arm. Her eyes darted down to see Barnes' right hand on her elbow. He gave her arm a gentle squeeze.

"You're okay, Kate," he told her. "Whatever happened, it's over."

Allison nodded. "I'm fine," she reminded him, her tone more appreciative of the sentiment than the first time she had said it. Her eyes ticked over to his while his hand lingered and she added, "Thank you."

Barnes settled back into the laid down driver's seat, closing his eyes with a long, relaxed exhale. Allison's eyes tipped over to him again, studying him for a moment. His hand still rested reassuringly on her arm and she didn't make an effort to remove it. Instead, she closed her eyes again, feeling more at ease with the warmth of his hand coming through the sleeve of her sweatshirt.


	19. Chapter 19

Jan 2013

Cable tied arms hooked over the back of a rickety wooden chair and her ankles lashed to its legs, Allison breathed softly as she took in the sounds and smells around her. Under the hood on her head, the air was musty and damp. Several sets of footsteps had dragged her into the room, a walk about 100 meters long with a simple pattern of six left and right turns along the first floor of a cool building. Only a few sets had retreated from the room. She guessed at at least two guards in the room, maybe three. The door to the room would be oriented in front of her from the way she was twisted around to the chair and followed the noises out of the room. She was likely in an interior room of the building, the dull hint of light struggling through the tightly woven threads of the hood too fluorescent to be natural.

Allison waited, silent and still. She estimated it was three hours since she'd been taken. She had a knack for tracking time without a digital or solar reference and exceptionally precise ETAs. An otherwise useless skill in her current circumstances except to keep her mind sharp and assess the lethality of her situation. The longer she was alive, the more important she was to whoever had taken her and the greater likelihood she would be recovered. The trouble was, with Bangui being a border city, she couldn't be sure if she was still in the Central African Republic capitol anymore. She wasn't sure how long they'd driven. The blow to her head kept her thinking a bit hazy for a short while. For all she knew, they could still be in the city or somewhere in the DR region of the Congo.

The door ahead of her opened and a pair of footsteps came in, two men by the weight and measure of their strides. The door shut. One stopped short in the room while the other continued to her right and yanked the hood from her head. Allison's eyes squinted in brief adjustment to the light, her breathing erratic and head turning wildly around the room, a ploy at innocence and play at fright. She counted two guards with rifles framing the door. The second newcomer stood near the corner of the room, watching with folded arms in a black suit.

A stocky man in a dark grey BDU style uniform, with his sleeves rolled in lieu of crisp folds at the elbows and no patches or identification on his shirt, stared down at her with a hard expression. "What is your name?" he asked, his baritone voice thick with a French accent.

"Please," Allison begged, with tear filled eyes. "Where am I? What's going on?"

He scoffed at her and threw the hood in his hand to one of the guards. "Don't play games with me," he warned her. "What is your name?"

When Allison kept up the act, pleading to be let go and that she was just a tourist, her questioner reached up and backhanded her across the cheek. Her head thrown to the side, she let out a startled and pained gasp and let her head hang meekly to her chest as she cried. Still unsatisfied, the man grabbed a fist full of her hair, yanking her head up and clamping his other hand at her jaw to turn her to see him and search her eyes. 

"You'll change your mind," he hissed at her, before he pushed away her head.

His hand went to the cargo pocket on his left thigh. When he pulled out his fist again, he held it in front of her face. He opened his hand to show her the earpiece that had been pulled off her in the SUV, cracked open in half and useless. "A tourist doesn't wear a US military grade communications device. A tourist doesn't conceal weapons," he informed her.

He dropped the broken device in her lap and turned to leave the room. He strode confidently out of the room, the suited man at his heels. The guard holding the hood came forward, bagging her head despite her feigned panicked refusal. His footsteps going back to his post and her face hidden again, she slowly quieted her damsel routine with a frustrated tick of her mouth to the side. This was going to take a while.

May 2015

"What do you mean you 'pulled him out'?" Allison asked, her disbelief showing in her expression.

"I mean," Barnes explained, "I jumped in after him and pulled him out. I left him on the shore across from the island. He's very much alive."

Allison let out a contemplative sigh. "They never said," she thought out loud. "HYDRA, up until I left them, they thought he was dead. The news, the exploited back doors in the SHIELD database- nothing told them he made it."

"He was laid up in the hospital for a while," he told her. "What's left of SHIELD has him. He's still working with them. He's been on my ass for months."

"He's looking for you?" she asked, turning her gaze back to him as he drove. 

"Aren't they all?" he smirked, glancing at her from the side of his eye. "What's one more?"

"And he hasn't caught up with you yet?"

Barnes shook his head, eyes ticking up to check the rear view mirror. "No," he said. "He's gotten close a couple times. He's got some guy helping him. Haven't caught his name yet."

Allison wasn't surprised the Captain hadn't found Barnes yet. He was a good tactician, leader, and soldier, but she didn't think he had the necessary skill set to doggedly track down a man trained like Barnes without the help of STRIKE's expertise. That Rogers was trying made her admire him a little more, though.

"Why is he looking?" she asked.

"I think he wants to take me in," he answered, hesitantly. "I've got a lot of sins to answer for."

"Huh," Allison nodded, quietly.

She considered the possibilities of Capt. Rogers being alive. His assistance and resources to find Rumlow would help her exponentially. But she couldn't expect him to understand or think that he wouldn't take Brock in. Rogers would be a definite thorn in HYDRA's side. He most assuredly would support her campaign against them. But he wouldn't trust her anyway. She couldn't go back to SHIELD and expect to be treated fairly. As part of Echo, she had already been branded as a HYDRA agent in his speech before the disaster in DC. If he was still working with SHIELD, he would have seen her mixed in with HYDRA reports, could have seen her name in their files. The fact that she disappeared from the world and played dead after the attack on the SHIELD HQ didn't help her cause either. Rogers was useless to her, but she wondered something else.

"Why did you do it?" she asked. "Why would you, a HYDRA agent, save him?"

"He's what broke me out," he told her, a kind of reverence to the answer. "He was my mission. I was supposed to stop him; kill him. I chased him on the Insight carrier. We fought. He got through. Somehow, he broke down their programming. Things started to come back, things he said. I started to remember. He was my friend. I didn't understand at the time, but something told me I couldn't let him die."

"How close has he gotten to finding you?"

"Not that close," he smirked, with a wink. "He won't interrupt us."

May 2014

Mickelson had met Allison and verbally mapped out the compound for her. Giving references and distances, she would be able to semi-confidently navigate the facility without him. He advised her on patrol rotations and troop numbers referencing his last visit to the base six months ago and warned her about areas that had been hardened to limit access to sensitive intelligence areas.

"You're fuckin' insane for coming here, Al," he told her, sitting at the foot of her bunk.

"Could say the same about you," she said, jutting her chin at him from where she was propped against the wall with her pillow behind her.

"How long you going to stay?"

Allison shrugged. "As long as I can get away with it. Until I figure out what to do next. I don't know."

"Keep to yourself," he said. "Stick near me when you can. People may know you here, recognize you from the Triskelion, but don't be seen too much. Hell, even I don't like half the pricks around here and I'm one of them."

She smiled, her chin tipping up in a quiet laugh. "I got this," she assured him. "I'm just gonna keep my eyes and ears open for awhile. I won't give you any trouble."

"You kinda already are," he pointed out, smacking her boot lightly.

"Heard from the wife?" Allison asked.

Eric nodded. "She made it in," he said. "They're fine."

"Good," she smiled. "Heard what the plan is around here? What's next?"

"Give it a day or so till they get a headcount," he told her. "They'll start putting out assignments, redeploying to other facilities, running ops again."

"And you're gonna stay, Mick?" she asked.

Eric shrugged. "Once you're in, you're in," he noted. "I'll be here awhile, anyway. If I see a break, I might try to go. ...Al, if they look to get you an assignment and try to vet you-"

"They'll find me on file," she told him, assured by the info she had read in Rumlow's tablet so far. "They have records that show me attached to Insight; reports that skew me as sympathetic to SHIELD missions we ran that were part of HYDRA's agenda. I've got a little time."

"How?" Mickelson asked, his brow folding with several questions.

"I'm not completely sure," she admitted. "But it's an in and I'm gonna take it."

"What else do they have?" Eric asked.

"I don't know," she shook her head. "It's just what I've seen so far."

"You gotta be careful, Al," he warned. "Some notes in a database aren't going to be enough to keep you afloat for very long with some of these guys. There's gonna be a point where you're going to have to prove it."

"We'll see," she told him. "If I can't, I'll get out, make a run for it."

"They'll follow," he promised. "They don't like other people knowing their secrets."

"I'll take them as they come," she said. Allison reached in to her back pack on the floor and took out her map to unfold on the bed. "What can you tell me about these pinholes?"

Mickelson looked over the map for a moment. "They mark HYDRA facilities in the Northeast. A couple supply depots, training grounds, some safe houses, an air station, third tier compounds," he said. "Where'd you get this?"

"Saved it from a burn bag," she admitted.

"You got balls, Al," he laughed, shaking his head.

"Can you mark what each one is for me?" she asked.

Eric sighed. "Yeah," he nodded. 

Jan 2013

After the first few hours of captivity, she was transferred to a windowless, cinder block room, barely 12 feet square. There was a thin and thread bare mattress on the floor and dirty toilet in the corner. Allison judged the floor to be cleaner than the stained mattress and the single soft watt bulb caged in the center of the ceiling was kept on 24 hours a day. After a second round of questioning and several hours of being slapped around by uniformed tough guys, she was pushed back into her humble cell with a bowl of gruel instead of anything actually resembling food waiting for her and she knew their tactics were about to change.

Dragged back into the interrogation room the next morning, and set back in her chair, the original man in the gray uniform was waiting for her. His hands clasped behind his back, he stared at her for several long minutes. 

"You're face," he began, "the identification in your bag, your fingerprints. They do nothing. You're not who you pretend to be. ...There have been assassinations. One I believe you pulled the trigger for. I want to know who you are, why you are in my country, who you work for."

"I'm no one," she told him.

The man stepped to her toes and drew back, crashing a jab into her jaw and sending her into a momentary daze. Allison's head lolled down for a moment. She shook her head and vision clear. They had moved on from the niceties as expected. She sniffed and raised her head again, her expression unreadable and her resolve hard. The man recognized the change and smirked.

"It's been three days," he noted. "No one has found you. No one has even come looking for you."

"You won't see them come," she promised him.

"No one will find you here," he assured her, pacing a short and deliberately slow line across the front of her chair. His mouth cracked into a friendly smile and he gestured his arms wide to invite her speak up. "Save yourself the pain, tell me what I want to know, and I'll send you back to your people."

She scoffed quietly, a corner of her mouth ticking up to show she knew better. "Yeah. Okay."

"You'll tell me what I want to know," he insisted. "You can try to fight back. You can lie. But I will get what I want...You won't last. No one does."

"On va voir," she said. "78169736."

It was the last and only thing she said to him or anyone else.

July 2015

Allison checked the map spread out over the hood of the car. Pulled over in the lamp light of an empty highway rest stop in the middle of nowhere, she estimated her arrival at the Pennsylvania compound in twenty-five minutes in the moonless night and over the terrain. Barnes came back from the restroom, walking down the driver's side of the car and stopping to lean on his elbows over the hood. He gave a soft snort of a laugh.

"How's it look, Sarge?" he smirked.

She shot him a quick look from the side of her eye, annoyed by his use of an old Amy nickname. "We're about 25 minutes out on foot," she told him, her fingertip referencing the target on the map. "I'll go up from the South, take a look around, get a head count."

"How come you get to go?" he asked, a mischievous corner of his mouth turned up.

"Because you're almost 100 years old and it's past your bedtime," she quipped. "I do just fine by myself, remember? Just sit on the gear and I'll let you know what I find."

"We'd get a better picture if we both went. Place this size..." he told her, straightening up off the car. He pointed down at the map. "This ridge on the northwest would give a good view."

"This might be another dead site," Allison suggested. 

"And if it's not," he argued, "we need solid recon."

"We'll have it," she confidently said, folding up the map.

"Look here, sweetheart," he began, "this is a compound _with_ an airfield, not a safe house like before. There's gonna be patrols, CC monitoring, a motion trip perimeter."

"I know what they have," she said, a snippy reminder. "This isn't my first field op."

A week ago, in the East end of the state, they'd set off an "accidental" explosion to destroy a HYDRA weapons and fuel depot. The facility was leveled. The week before that, Allison and Barnes raided a safe house upstate. Seven soldiers assigned to the site were killed in the exchange of gunfire. There were no "guests" at the house and no intel gathered before the breach was detected and the network was disconnected from off-site, but it was seven less HYDRA followers in the world.

"You know, for being SHIELD, you're shit for teamwork," he pointed out, talking to her as he watched her over the top of the car.

Allison dropped the map back on her seat in the front of the car. She opened up the back door and reached into a duffel bag on the floor. She took out one of the black, unmarked uniform shirts from HYDRA and set it up on the roof. Pulling her sweatshirt off over her head, she tossed it into the backseat as Barnes folded his arms on the roof and whistled at her in her sports bra.

"For Christ's sake," she complained, rolling her eyes.

He held up a hand briefly before settling back onto the car. "A fella can look," he argued. 

"This is why you're not going," she told him, pulling the long sleeved compression shirt on. "So I get a night off from you. And, for the record, I don't need a team to do what I do."

"Bet they loved you at the company picnic," he said, dryly, as she shut the car door and went to the trunk. "You win a ribbon for sportsmanship last year?"

"My team and I got along just fine," she assured him, with an air of disdain, raising the trunk lid to sort through the bags of weapons and equipment. 

"Touchy," he noted, moving down the car to see her and she rolled her eyes again.

Allison hooked her gun belt around her waist and tightened the strap of her drop holster at her thigh. "Look," she sighed, "just keep the channel open. I'll be back by sunrise."

"What if you get into trouble?" he asked, folding his arms as she put on her body armor.

"I don't plan on it," she smirked, giving the front of her vest a tug for adjustment.

Barnes pulled her backpack out of the trunk. "Humor me," he insisted.

Allison pulled her balaclava overhead, tucking a few stray hairs near her eye back into the mask. "Then I'll be late for breakfast," she winked.

He held out the bag for her to take. This time, he was the one who rolled his eyes. Allison took the pack and pulled it onto her shoulders. She took a breath to clear her head. This was the largest target they'd tackled and the realization that they were going at it without a team or support was getting to her. She looped the sling of her rifle over one shoulder and pushed the weapon around to hang behind her arm. Barnes touched the comms device in his ear, as she started into the tree line beside the road.

"Wildcard- Wildcard. Comms check," Barnes spoke, softly, into his mic.

He watched her, as Allison threw a thumbs up overhead and her voice came into his ear, "Dealer's 5 by 5." Another few steps and she dissolved into the shadows of the night.


	20. Chapter 20

Feb 2013

After 12 days, Allison's mental clock was becoming unreliable. The last sunlight she saw was the day she was captured. Glances at a guard's wristwatch were difficult after her right eye was swollen shut by a throw of her head into a concrete wall. Apparently her weak kneed stumble as she was being transferred off the table and back to her cell, after an unproductive 30-odd minute session of water boarding, was the breaking point for a frustrated interrogator. From the pain, she suspected a fracture somewhere in the orbital socket. She added it to the growing list of bruised skin and bones that made it hard to sleep at night in her cold cell.

Her food was down to one bowl of far from palatable gruel a day. The few days she was left to wallow in her cell, she was given nothing to eat and sipped water from the back of the toilet tank from her dirty palm. She moved around as best she could and did sit-ups and push-ups to keep her head and body strong when she heard no one near her cell. She did less, and then none, as injuries and fatigue began to prevent it.

By day 18, Allison was physically exhausted. Her joints ached and two fingers on her left hand were broken. Her wrists were cut and worn from the edges of too tight cable ties and cuffs. Somehow, in the unkempt hell, infection was slow to take, but had begun nonetheless after the second week. The cool, damp air of her prison had put a wheeze in her breathing, especially when she could manage a deep enough pull of her lungs after a boot found her sternum and knocked her in her chair to the ground four days prior. Allison's limbs were scratched from falls, several areas of her skin split open, and lips cracking from dehydration. Her clothes were stained with dirt and blood and were beginning to tatter from near daily manhandling. 

Dragged hanging from her elbows, Allison was dropped face first in the center of her cell. She laid there until the locks on the door loudly clanked shut and the footsteps outside disappeared. It took all of the energy she had left for the day to pull herself across the floor to her thin mattress along the wall, each inch of progress excruciating and slow. She managed to roll off of her stomach and to her side, her legs from the knees down draped on the floor, before her body failed. She was too weak and broken to get herself to water and the next meal, if there was one, wouldn't be there till morning.

The noises she heard were familiar, but dull to her ears. She struggled to open her eyes and clear her head. The single light in the center of the ceiling of her cell flickered for several seconds before going out and leaving her in darkness. The only light came from the pale, battery fed emergency lighting in the hall that edged into the thin window of her cell door. She managed to raise herself to her elbow and back into the corner of the wall, her head resting on her shoulder as she strained to see or hear anything. Slowly, the distant sounds grew louder and she realized what it was. Gunfire, sporadic and excessive, the indiscriminate trigger pulls from fear. There were adrenaline raised voices shouting commands in French, and hurried steps in the hall.

More gunfire, three round bursts, professional and efficient, coming closer. Fear overtaking the commanding French voices and concussive explosions. From the hall, the breaking of wood and impact of metal. All of the sounds advanced. The closest sound was the next cell's door opening and several gunshots from an automatic weapon. All she could do was wait.

The locks of her door were thrown open and the door pushed in. A soldier stepped in front of the doorway of the cell, softly silhouetted from the floodlights in the hall. She saw him raising his rifle to fire. Whatever was happening, she figured they were losing and an order had been given to terminate herself and any other prisoner they held to spite the invaders. The man's rifle came level with his eye and he took aim. Just as quickly as the weapon came up, the man fell, struck by someone or something in the hall. A moment later he was replaced by another figure, tall, with broad shoulders and a shield on his arm.

Capt. Rogers stepped over the unconscious guard and knelt at the edge of the mattress on the floor. Looking her over, he spoke into his mic, "This is Rogers. I have Seraphim." The Captain reached out a hand, guiding her head straight to look him in the eye. "You're okay now, Allison," he assured her, calm and confident. "We found you, Ally. We'll get you out of here."

The sound of boots running down the hall came seconds later. Rogers carefully let Allison's head rest back into the corner and turned toward the door, raising his shield and muscles coiling. Rumlow stopped in the doorway, his heavy breath from the exertion of the assault on the compound was halted at the sight of Allison on the floor. The Captain relaxed, standing and taking a step back as Brock entered the small room and the STRIKE operators behind him split, three continuing to clear down the hall and two posting to protect the door. Brock slung his rifle around behind him as he knelt down in front of Allison. 

"You alright, kid?" Rumlow asked, his eyes checking her over and hands lightly testing injuries he found. He glanced toward the door, seeing Rogers move from the side of his eye to check with his teammates outside. With no one else in the room, Brock leaned in to look her in the eye and cupped his hand to Allison's cheek. "I'm gonna get you home, baby," he promised, in a whisper.

All Allison could do was give a weak nod. Her mouth and throat were too dry to speak. Rumlow sat back and gave orders into his mic.

"Raider 1 to Goliath. Seraphim secure. Request dustoff, northwest corner, 1 Alpha, 1 Lima. Possible hot LZ marked with red smoke in two mikes."

Rogers turned back. Rumlow looked over his shoulder and gave him a nod. The Captain came back in. Brock stood and moved away, pulling his weapon forward. Rogers took a knee and gingerly took Allison into his arms, sheltering her behind his shield as he rose to his feet again. Rumlow gave the rally order and Rogers fell in to the middle of the fire team in the hall as they ran out of the compound to meet the medevac jet.

On board the Quinjet, Rogers carefully laid Allison down on the gurney. A pair of medics came forward, one questioning and examining Allison while the other prepped an IV line. The Delta fire team withdrew from the landing zone to their own extraction point as the ramp went up on the medical flight. The jet began its liftoff as Rumlow stood watch, holding on to a rail at the ceiling of the cabin for balance and eyes fixed unwaveringly on Allison. Rogers gave him a nod and clap on the back, an acknowledgment of the successful rescue and his shared relief. Brock nodded back, as the Captain took a seat near the cockpit.

Allison nodded or shook her head to answer questions for the medics. A drink of water she took was like rain in the desert. With fluids started, one medic went to the cockpit to update the pilots and radio a report for the medical staff on the helicarrier. The remaining medic began an examination of Allison's wounds, pressing on bruises to check for fractures and flushing infected skin. Her voice came back in a pain-filled groan through clenched teeth, as he noted suspected fractures or bruised bones and she watched. She shut her eyes tight at the next round of pain. In her free hand, she felt a new warmth and the strength of a hand wrapping over hers. As pain-filled tears began to well in her eyes, she opened them to see Rumlow take a knee beside the gurney.

It was excruciating to speak, dehydrated and voice unused for weeks, but she had to tell him. "I didn't tell them anything," she managed, the sound cracked and quiet.

"I know you didn't," he nodded, with a cocky smirk. "You did good, kid."

Allison's muscles seized and she gripped Brock's hand tightly holding hers. Her breath hissed in as the medic moved to splint her broken fingers, her eyes snapping over to see.

Brock put his other hand reassuringly on her shoulder and fixed his gaze on hers. "Hey," he told her. "Don't look at it. Keep your eyes on me, okay? ...It's gonna be alright. We're going home." He looked up at the medic. "Take it easy, doc. She's had a bit of a fuckin' day, alright?"

"Yes, sir," the medic nodded.

Rumlow turned his attention back to Allison, the back of his finger wiping away a tear that escaped her eye as she grimaced at the medic's touch again. "You're doing good," he assured her. "Just breathe. Look at me." He soothingly talked her through the next few minutes of agony, as the medic worked. "That's it. Eyes on me. ...You're gonna be okay. We found you. You're safe now." He glanced between the medic and Allison. "Don't either of you two fuckers tell anyone I was this nice."

"No, sir," the medic agreed, unfolding a blanket over Allison. "Don't see a thing."

It was small and exhausted, but it was the first time Allison smiled in weeks.

July 2015

"Dealer to Wildcard. SitRep."

"Wildcard, everything's copacetic," she answered, softly, into her mic, winking through the scope of her rifle.

"What's it look like down there?" Barnes asked.

Allison took a quick glance at the notebook on the ground under her nose, doing a quick average of the times she marked patrols. "14 2-man foot patrols, every 6 minutes of the perimeter lines. At least one K9 team. Snipers on the roof. CC, laser trips, electrified fence. Target rich environment. Everything we expected."

"Target assessment?"

"Hard target," she shrugged, watching a pair of patrol teams stop to bullhsit. "Solid, but breachable."

"Point of entry?"

"Straight through the wire, Southeast corner, about 170 meters direct to the command building," she noted, sweeping her view over the East edge of the facility.

"That's the objective?"

"Doesn't look like anything else of value up top," Allison explained, pocketing her notebook and rising from her proned out position behind a wide tree. "There might be more below. Looks like just an outpost for mission support. If there's anything useful, it'll be there. Copy the intel, drop a virus, bug out."

"Roger that. Sunrise in 13."

"Already foot mobile," she advised, starting her way back from her eight hour recon.

Less than 20 minutes later, Allison emerged from the tree line at the extraction point, as Barnes pulled the car off to the side of the road to meet her. He popped the trunk lid and she stripped off and stowed her gear. She closed the trunk and stopped at the rear passenger door to change back into her sweatshirt. Falling heavily into the passenger seat, he pulled off from the curb as she clicked on her seatbelt. 

"Good morning, sweetheart," he told her, picking up a large cup of coffee from the console and holding it out for her.

Allison's head lolled over on the headrest to give him a bored expression. She eyed his offering for a moment before taking the cup. "Thanks, dear," she said, dryly, peeking under the lid of the paper cup to see the beverage lightly creamed. "Poisoned?"

"Not this time," he smirked, as he drove along the empty bypass. "When do we move on the target?"

She savored a sip of the coffee before answering, its heat warding off the overnight chill of the woods. "No time like the present," she told him. "Forecast still calls for rain tonight, overcast skies, no moon, low visibility."

"There's a motel down the way here," he pointed out. "We have a room through tomorrow. You can rest up and we'll head out at sundown."

Allison nodded and took out the small notebook from a pocket on her pant leg. She thumbed it open in one hand, sipping from the coffee in the other. She reviewed her notes on patrols and activity, making a mental checklist of equipment to take on the next mission.

"What's next, after this?" he asked, pulling his own hot beverage from the cup holder.

"We'll head North," Allison said, folding her notes closed. "There's another compound in upstate New York. We've been east bound long enough. Don't want to be too predictable."

"I don't think we've done anything for them to see a pattern or plan yet," he assured her.

She shook her head in agreement. "No, but I want to avoid it anyway."

"We're gonna run out of places on that map," he noted.

"Then I'll steal us another one," she shrugged, with a wicked smirk.

Barnes looked over at her and laughed. "Kate," he smiled, "you look like an angel, but you might just be the devil. You know that?"

"Sounds vaguely familiar," she nodded.

May 2014

Allison stayed under the radar and close to Mickelson for the next two days. She kept mostly to herself, alone in her room and pouring over the tablet and files she had taken from Rumlow's home. She read mission reports and assessments, noting a short but growing list of missions she was on that supported HYDRA's goals instead of SHIELD's. There were dossiers on every STRIKE operator, listing their loyalty to the two organizations. She was sickened to learn so many of her teammates were on the other side. Every operator on Delta save three and almost as many on Echo. She still wasn't sure how she had been affiliated with HYDRA, but it was affording her some protection. She considered it was something Brock had done.

A knock on her door brought a HYDRA soldier with orders for her to report to a briefing room at the request of Commander Rollins. Allison stashed her intel and found her way to the large room. She was one of the last persons to arrive and couldn't get a seat near Eric. He gave her a reassuring nod, as she took a seat at one of the rows of tables several chairs away. Rollins walked in and to the head of the room. It tested her composure not to scoff at the notion that he deserved the rank of Commander. But, then again, maybe HYDRA had lower standards than SHIELD.

"Good afternoon, everyone," he began. "I'll keep this as short as possible, but we've got a lot to cover. First off, HQ has completed recovery of all surviving operatives. Despite the crashes of the Insight carriers, the impact on troop numbers was acceptable. The forced launch of the carriers without full crews aboard kept things in our favor. We're continuing extraction of downed personnel from DC area hospitals, as injuries allow.

"A full casualty list is available on the R drive," Rollins noted, "including unit reassignments and promotions based on temporary and permanent losses to the command structure. Agents coming in cold from their SHIELD cover assignments will be worked into a temporary rotation until a permanent unit can be assigned. You are all officially back on call and I want you mission ready 24/7. Delta operators, you'll be pleased, or probably not, to know we recovered Bingo in DC. He'll be laid up for awhile, but he should be back to bustin' your balls in a couple months. So, enjoy the vacation."

Allison chuckled along with the rest of the room. Brock was alive. The relief the news gave her was choked by the return of her anger over his betrayal. It took all she had not to rush the front of the room and beat Brock's location out of Jack. She folded her hands tightly in her lap, her knuckles whitening under her own grip, as she breathed and tried to keep focused while Rollins went on about assignments and status reports.

Back in her room, Allison tried to access the drive Rollins had mentioned. While on the base, Rumlow's tablet linked into the HYDRA servers. When she had tried opening certain locked programs and files that appeared after the uplink, a prompt asked for a user ID and password. She didn't have the nerve to try to crack the encryption when she was surrounded by hundreds of HYDRA soldiers, worrying about being locked out from the tablet or being discovered as a spy by raising some kind of alarm on the data or server. When she got the same prompt while trying to access the drive mentioned in the briefing, she knew it was a loss.

She spent the next hour thinking over her options. Allison didn't bank on her cover holding up very long. She didn't know enough about her own back story to make it defensible if she was questioned. Although the HYDRA servers and networks were in her sight, she couldn't access any more of the information than she already had. The list of opportunities and reasons to stay was shrinking. Regrettably or not, the decision to leave was made for her.

An explosion shook the walls of the building and the klaxons in the halls began to wail. Allison rolled off the bed and scrambled to the window. Breaking over the horizon of the compound from the blind of the setting sun, was a band of Apaches and she watched as their Hellfire payload streaked forward into the base. Apparently, the US government was looking to retaliate for DC. Muttering a curse under he breath, Alison was on her feet and packing her bag. Her things gathered in a matter of seconds, she opened her door into the hallway.

Grey smoke crawled along the ceiling and HYDRA soldiers ran by, barking orders at each other and charging rifles. Allison looked down the hall to Mickelson's room. She saw the door standing open and took the chance to see if he was there. When he wasn't, she peered back into the hallway and found the floor cleared. Outside, the fragmentation blasts of the missles shook the structure and automatic gunfire rained. Allison took off down the hall to the emergency stairwell and broke out into the sunset light.

Allison flattened herself against the wall and checked her surroundings. She saw the Quinjets rolling out from their hangars. Anti-aircraft guns appeared from under tarps and decoys and fires burned in the tops of a pair of bombed out buildings. She made a break for the armory, as the first Quinjets to get off the ground took the fight to the sky. As she went past soldiers with radios, she overheard advisements of armored infantry and ground troops flanking the far end of the base. She had a little time before she saw trouble. 

In the armory, she took what she could. She was apparently late to the party and found the weapons largely picked over. Hanging back and pretending to cover the armory entrance, as the soldiers and agents around her grabbed rifles and ran back out, she grabbed an empty duffel when she was alone for a minute. Allison stuffed the bag with pistols, magazines and ammo, gas and fragmentation grenades, and any other equipment she could find. She shouldered the bag and, grabbing an M4, was out the door in barely two minutes. Allison made a break from the far end of the compound and didn't look back.


	21. Chapter 21

Mar 2013

Allison sat in the recliner near the window, absentmindedly watching the horses in the field below. The Farm provided recovery for agents with a variety of wounds. Some of the psychological ones were treated with animal therapy programs. Working with the horses eased stress and offered bonds for some agents. The working farm also kept up low key appearances to the civilian world. State of the art medical facilities were disguised in barnyard and stable facades. Recovery rooms and therapy sessions were split between two large houses in the center of the 1300 acre property. All of it staffed and under the watchful protection of SHIELD. 

The vibrating cell phone on the arm of her chair brought her around again. She turned over the phone to see the caller ID. Allison smiled at the phone in her hand, clearing her throat gently before she said hello.

"Hey, baby," Brock's voice came through. "How you feelin'?"

Allison nodded to herself, looking back outside. "Getting better every day. Slow, but steady."

"Good. That's good," he said, the hint of a smile coming across in his voice. "I'm sorry I can't come see you."

"No," she said, dismissing the apology. "You don't need to. I'm fine. Besides, it'd be a little suspicious. The brass never comes up here."

"I know," he conceded. "But I still feel like shit for it. I wanna be there for you."

"Don't beat yourself up about it," she told him. "You're not missing much."

"I miss you, Addy. You know that?" he asked. "You haven't been around here in months. It's not the same anymore without you around. For fuck's sake, every time I put my sweatshirt down somewhere, it's right where I left it when I go back for it. You believe that shit?"

"You poor baby," she smiled. "It must be awful."

Brock laughed sarcastically. "It ain't a fuckin' picnic," he grumbled.

"Ugh," she groaned. "I miss you, too. Haven't seen home in almost three months. My plants are probably all dead. Hell, the landlord probably thinks _I'm_ dead."

"I've been over for the plants," he told her, his tone lightened again as he went on. "Don't worry about it. We've been making sure the bills are paid on time." Brock paused for a beat, before going on. "Doc says they're thinking about cutting you loose in a couple weeks. That sounds a little early."

"I thought you just said you missed me," she questioned, standing up from her chair to go to the bedside table for her next round of pain killers.

"I do," he assured her. "But I want you to get better. You need to stay there, if you're not ready to be back."

"I'll be ready," Allison said.

"Think about this real hard, Addy," he urged. "You come back and you get put back on the books. They're gonna put you under the microscope to make sure you're mission ready again."

Allison studied the medicine bottle in her hand. The pills blocked the chronic aches and sharp pains she felt in deep breathes from a trio of cracked ribs and a sternal fracture, the arthritic-like tightness in the broken fingers in her left hand, and the general soreness of healing bruised muscles and from physical therapy. But she felt foggy and they made her tired when she took the prescribed dosage. Her weight was back up and she'd been cleared for strength hardening workouts again. Working through the pain was exhausting, but gave her a sense of accomplishment.

"I'll be fine," she promised. 

"If you can't get through the assessment period," he gently warned, "they'll drop you from STRIKE. I can't do anything about that, if it happens."

"I know," she said.

Allison set the bottle back down on the table and went back to her chair by the window. She needed to ruck up. She'd done it before, been broken down and come back. This was just round two to her counter interrogation training from when she first joined STRIKE. She hurt, but she was still alive and itching to get back to work. Allison wasn't the type to sit still, and therapy and days on the Farm were starting to thin her patience. She knew what the doctors needed to see and hear to get her out on that two week schedule and she couldn't pull it off in the haze of narcotics.

"I know you," he reminded her. "Don't play games, Addy. Be straight with them. I'm not fuckin' around here. Take the time, if you need it. You read me?"

"I do," she told him. "I'll be fine."

"You need anything up there?" Brock checked. "Anything from home?"

"No," Allison inhaled, with a fond smile. "I'm okay. Thanks. Won't be here much longer, anyway."

"You take care of yourself, Addy," he told her. "Listen to the doctors and take it easy while you can...I miss you, baby. I love ya. I'll talk to you soon."

Allison's smile widened. "I love you, too. Bye."

July 2015

Allison cracked the frosted glass window in the bathroom. The steam after her shower clouded the bathroom mirror, the exhaust vent in the small room had a dead switch. She folded her towel to hang over the bar on the wall and combed through her hair. The bedroom was warm and slightly humid as the air conditioner worked to catch up for the room's new occupants. In a t-shirt and shorts, Allison sat cross legged on the side of her queen size bed, taking out the map and her notebook from her overnight reconnaissance. She flipped over to the blank back of the map and sketched out a rough map of the facility. Across from her, on the second bed, Barnes was breaking down and inspecting weapons for the night's raid. Her map and notes made, she handed the folded paper over for him to take.

Barnes sent the bolt forward and closed the dust cover on the rifle in his hands. He eyed the paper she held out when she waved it in his periphery. He laid down the rifle and took the map with a side eye look. Giving the drawing a quick glance, he turned his knee off the bed to put both feet on the floor again and square himself to see her. 

"What's that?" he asked.

Allison looked up from her notebook, tipping her pen to point toward the paper in his hand. "What? Do you want me to write 'not to scale' on there?" she quipped. "It's a diagram of the base."

"I know what this is," he told her, holding the map up. Barnes pointed at her hands. "What is _that_?"

Allison looked at her notebook and then over herself in a moment of confusion. "What?"

Barnes leaned forward, putting the map aside and reaching out with his metal hand to take hold and turn her right wrist on its edge. "These," he pointed out, the index finger of his right hand coming over to trace a faint scar.

Immediately self-conscious, Allison withdrew her hand from his hold. She stood up to get her sweatshirt from the back of one of the table chairs. She pulled the shirt overhead, telling him it was nothing. Going back to her place on her bed, she took up her notes again and began to brief him on her observations. 

"The gaps between patrols are manageable," she began, eyes focused down on her notes. "There's a shift change at 2200 hours. If we-"

Barnes interrupted, eyes ticking back down to her hands. "What happened?" 

Allison turned her gaze up and sent him a hard glare. "Nothing," she reiterated, with a small groan of annoyance.

"I know those marks," he told her.

"You know nothing," Allison said, leaning forward to take back the map from his side of the room.

"I used to have them, too," he said.

The comment made her pause for a moment, her eyes flitting down to his flesh arm and seeing no scars, before going back and forth between his blue eyes that struck her as sympathetic. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Barnes stood up, taking a small step across the space between them. He grabbed her wrist and pushed back the end of her sleeve. When she reached over to cover herself, he did the same to the other arm. He held onto her left forearm when she stopped, realizing he had already found the matching marks on her wrists and that he wasn't letting it go.

Her left arm had fared the worst. Wearing a watch hid the pale pink reminders of cuts that looped her wrists from any wandering eyes. The marks left on the other arm were much more thin and subtle and often went overlooked by even Allison.

"Mine went away after the serum," Barnes said. He gave her an almost pitying look. "Those aren't from a knife," he noted. "Person like you wouldn't do that, anyway."

"What makes you say that?" she asked, pulling her hand back when he let go and sliding down her sleeves.

"You don't quit," he said, firmly. "You're trained not to. That," he went on, pointing to her covered left wrist. " _That_ someone did to you. They did it for a long time and they wanted to make it hurt."

"It doesn't matter anymore," she shrugged, trying to sound indifferent.

"Why not?" he asked.

"Because the person they did that to is dead," she told him, flatly.

Barnes nodded, thoughtfully. "Is that part of this for you? Did HYDRA do that to you?"

"No," Allison shook her head, looking for a distraction in her notebook. "A HYDRA competitor." She looked back up from her sketched map. "Can we get back on task here? I'd like to get a couple hours sleep before this shit kicks off."

He studied her for a moment before nodding again and coming back to the original discussion. "What's the plan, Sarge?"

Jan 2014

Allison knocked on the closed door to Brock's office and waited. A few moments later, Rumlow opened the door and pulled it shut behind him. Allison stepped aside for him to come into the hallway.

"Lt. Addams," he nodded.

"Sir," she returned, as greeting.

He jutted his chin and stepped past her. "Walk with me," he instructed.

Allison fell into silent step beside him. She wasn't sure what he had called to meet her for and waited for him to tell her, as decorum called for. They walked along the corridor to the elevator. Brock pressed the call button and comfortably folded his hands at his back, eyes turned up to track the elevator's progress on the display above the stainless steel doors. Allison patiently waited, her arms crossed casually.

Following Rumlow into the empty elevator, Allison leaned back against the railing and he ordered, "Project Insight bay."

Allison let the doors shut and looked over at Brock as he settled back against the next railing. "Never heard of Project Insight," she said. "What is it?"

Brock inhaled deeply, a small smirk showing in the corner of his mouth. "Just wait and see," he told her.

Amused by his small smile and intrigued by his mysterious answer, Allison snorted softly and nodded. She stared out the window of the glass elevator, panning her gaze over the Washington, DC cityscape, until the car sank beneath the surface of the SHIELD headquarters and below the flight line hangars. She turned her attention to the elevator display, watching the floors count further into the earth. Realizing the she was headed for a deeper level than she'd ever been to before, she glanced at Brock. Rumlow grinned and inclined his head for her to turn around. Allison's mouth gaped at what she saw.

Spread out in front of her was an immense dry dock, housing three helicarriers. She immediately recognized the design changes to the ships. The engines were a new configuration, the hull was larger, and the airships were lined with more weapons systems than she'd ever seen mounted on any carrier before them. Crews were hoisting pallets of building materials and equipment to the decks. At various spots on the hulls, welders threw off white hot sparks and, on the ground below to the bow of the ships, large skids of ammunition were being inventoried. The elevator stopped and the doors opened.

Allison stepped out slowly, her eyes still turned upward at the giant airships in awe. "Ho-ly shit," she quietly marveled. 

Brock stood beside her, folding his arms across his chest and looking over the state of art carriers. "This," he proudly said, briefly pointing a finger along the three helicarriers, "is Project Insight."

"This is incredible," Allison said, giving him only a quick glance before turning her attention back to the trio of ships. "How come I'm just now hearing about this? Not even a whisper."

"SHIELD has some secrets," Brock smugly noted.

"Apparently," Allison agreed, with a slack jawed nod.

"I'm bringing you in on this a little late," he admitted. "You got clearance for this when you took that promotion, but I've been a little busy and, honestly, I wasn't thinking about it."

"How do you overlook something this big for that long?" she quipped.

"Better late than never, huh?" Brock shrugged.

"She's got some extra hardware, I see," Allison noted, alluding to the extra weaponry on the ships.

"She needs it," Rumlow nodded. "Project Insight is a direct response to the growing need for international security after what happened with the Battle of New York." He turned his gaze from the carrier to Allison. "We'll be ready next time."

"For all out Armageddon?" she mused, with a grin. "Damn right."

"These three carriers will be satellite-linked," Rumlow explained, leading the way toward Insight 1. "They're designed to proactively strike out against potential threats before they actually happen. New repulsor based engines, courtesy of Stark Industries, capable of continuous sub-orbital flight. Once they go up, they never have to come down." He pointed up at the rows of weapons lined under the ship's belly. "New long range precision guns can eliminate a thousand hostiles a minute. The satellites can read a terrorist's DNA before he steps outside his spider hole. We're gonna neutralize a lot of threats before they even happen. Fury convinced the World Security Council we needed a quantum surge in threat analysis. For once, we're way ahead of the curve."

Looking at the behemoth above them, Allison scoffed. "We'll be out of a job," she corrected, with a small laugh and shake of her head. "When do they launch?"

"Target launch date is 1 August," Brock told her. "If everything stays on track, the way things have been going? Optimistically, June."

"So, I've still got time to update my resumé and find a new job," Allison joked and Rumlow chuckled.

"You an' me both, kid," he nodded. Brock gestured for her to follow him toward an elevator up to the carrier. "Come on. There's a lot to show you."


	22. Chapter 22

Dec 2014

It took an hour and a half to sweep and clear the bunker. It could have gone faster, but working alone in NVGs and checking every angle for trips and traps required patience. She had watched the bunker entrance for weeks. No one had come or gone and vegetation and wildlife in the area seemed undisturbed. Inside, the building was dark and cold. There was a layer of dust on the consoles and soot on the ceilings from where barrels had been set aflame to destroy intel and records. When Allison finally set down her M4, the clatter it made on the metal console of the control room was the only sound in the building.

She had her work cut out for her. A quick check of the switches on the wall and computers on the desk confirmed that the compound had no electricity. Setting aside her night vision to spare the batteries, she followed conduit lines along the ceiling to a mechanical room by flashlight. It wasn't good enough to just throw the breakers off. HYDRA had to be rude and take out the junction with an ax. God, she hated HYDRA. It took two days of scavenging and a bit of online research, at the library in town a few miles away, but on the third day, power was restored. Allison had no interest in trying to diagnose the issues with the damaged heat in the building. There were enough wool blankets and uniform items in Supply to manage without it.

Allison secured the building. She managed to get the closed circuit surveillance working again, giving her eyes outside. The wiring for the perimeter monitoring was a little tricky, but she was able to get the alarms back on line by the end of the week. With the bunker under her control, she staged for a holdout in the command center. She dragged a mattress in from the barracks and stockpiled food, water, and gear to last for several days if someone came looking around and her escape was cut off. It was far from cozy, but it was a strategic advantage and would do in a pinch.

For the next couple of weeks, Allison poured over the computers and charred remains of paperwork in the burn barrels. Sifting through singed scraps and corners of paper, she laid out salvageable pieces of intel over the empty tables in the mess hall, like working a thousand piece puzzle she didn't have a picture for. When squinting at burned edges was too boring to bear, she worked at repairing damaged hard drives. In the end, she had local access to two repairable computers. The information she could gleam wasn't much more than what she had access to on Brock's tablet, but it helped identify a couple new locations to mark on her map and she had a page long list of names in the mid-level HYDRA command structure. It was a start.

At the end of January, Allison had stolen a car and made a trip to the far end of West Virginia. There was a small safe house there outside of Huntington. Mickelson had marked the spot for her. He had said it was open for any agent, but it functioned as a second tier communications listening post as part of its regular assignment. She went there looking for any intelligence and hoping to access the HYDRA network. Eric had given her the code phrases to use so the "housekeepers" would let her in.

The codes held up after DC, a lucky break for her and a necessity for agents straggling in from the field. In the files she had found that referenced her as HYDRA, she had picked up a serial number and a couple of other useful credentials to provide. Using equipment in her commandeered bunker, she had printed herself an identification badge that she was surprised was still valid under inspection from the HYDRA agents on watch at the safe house. Allison spun a story about fleeing from the raid on the Ithaca facility and making her way South on a mission and was left to access the enemy network without a second thought. Everything went according to plan, until she began transferring files to a thumb drive and tripped a sentry program designed to alarm at unauthorized copying. She had barely begun cracking the program to bypass the data breach freeze on the computer, when "housekeeping" showed up to check the alarm.

The agents assigned to mind the house had to be good at what they did. Not only were they responsible for the sensitive communications point in the HYDRA intelligence line, but they had to protect the agents who took refuge there. Allison was better. The first three agents were dispatched with ease, taken down by one of their own weapons when she surprised the first guard to respond. The gunfire raised the alarm in the building and she was forced to abandon her objective when the building went into lockdown and the cavalry came running. Allison left no witnesses and scrubbed the security recordings for the last 24 hours, but access to the system was shut down somewhere up river and the computers she had were otherwise useless. She left with more names and background on HYDRA commanders, a quick peek at financing, and a partial set of files on Project Insight- designs, targets, and crew. Nine less HYDRA agents to worry about and barely a half stick of intel, but it was a start. She slipped out of town and back to her private compound.

Oct 2013

"Bravo- form up on me," Allison's voice came level and low through the communications recording.

"At this time," Allison explained, from her seat at the table beside Director Fury, "myself and Fire Team Bravo were staged at the Charlie side of Building 2 in the Southwest corner of the compound, grid 1. Agents DiAmato and Salsman are standing by to breach. Agent Jacobi and Fire Team Alpha are ready to disable the compound alarm system and main power at the power house located in grid 3 at the northern end of the compound. You'll see, as we move on, I gave the order to breach and Second Squad engaged multiple targets along the perimeter to provide cover for the operation and draw any enemy troops responding."

With a tap of a button on the smart glass tablet in front of her, the video resumed. Split over the large screen on the wall of the hearing room, several images moved, helmet cameras in night vision greens from the members of Fire Team Bravo. Faces hidden under helmets by black balaclavas and camoglauged grease paint, the information stamped in the corner of each video feed identified the camera's wearer. 

"Cronos, this is Styx," Allison radioed, in a hushed voice to the mission controller. "Echo 1 and 2 in position. Perses and Atlas standing by. Thunderbolt is green. Standing by for mission go- no go."

"Cronos to Styx, copy all. Mission is go. Mission is go."

"Solid copy," Allison confirmed in the playback. "Echo 2, standby for my count."

"Roger that. Standing by."

On the monitor, she saw herself look over her shoulder at her team and signal down the line- file formation- move up, hold, breacher, hold. "3...2...1."

She signaled the breach and DiAmato triggered the detonator on the building door. The lenses flared at the brief explosion and Allison signaled and led the assault into the building. The team fanned into a diamond formation, rushing through the building corridors and engaging any resistance in their way. They drove into the lower level of the building and Allison signaled the team to cover their position, calling DiAmato to breach the next door. With the door blown open, the fire team charged forward again and located a series of small cells at the dead end of the hallway. Allison and DiAmato took knees to cover down the hall behind them, as the other agents opened the cells and retrieved the six scientists held inside.

"Cronos- Cronos. Oracles secured," Allison advised. "Moving to extraction."

"Cronos copies- Oracles secured. Moving to extraction. Super 3-7, 3-8, and Super 3-9 are inbound."

Allison called for her team and their newly acquired company to move out. The group moved by her, as she did a headcount and made a quick assessment of the health and maneuverability of the hostages. As she was about to bring up the rear with DiAmato, Allison's camera showed her double take of the far wall of the small prison. She clicked on a flashlight and the green NVG image from her helmet mounted camera lit to true color in the new brightness. Her flashlight beam cut through the room and washed over the unmistakable image of the HYDRA emblem painted in red above a small bank of computers and blank monitors.

She took a few steps closer. "Styx to Cronos," Allison hailed. "Cronos, are you seeing this?"

There was a pause on the air. "Styx, this is Zeus," Rumlow answered, sounding a little more than mildly annoyed. "We see it. You have three mikes to gather what you can. Supers are five and a half minutes out."

"Copy- three minutes," Allison said, hurrying forward to wake one of the sleeping computers. The video moved on as she typed and hacked lines of code to get past the system's encryptions. The audio recording of the mission communications that synced to the video heard the controller direct her fire team to the rally point with Atlas and the rest of First Squad and order them all on to the landing zone with the recovered hostages.

"Thirty seconds, Styx," Brock noted, impatiently, in the audio, as Allison jammed a thumb drive into a port and began downloading files. Allison's camera whipped around, checking the room before Rumlow called 'time' and she snatched the drive and ran out.

"Styx is foot mobile," she advised, as she sprinted back through the corridors and upstairs. In her ear, the controller ordered Perses and Second Squad to withdraw to the extraction point. Behind her, a pair of large explosions were triggered, signaling Echo's final answer to the resistance they'd been stringing along and playing with while they waited for the controller to signal Allison's 'all clear'. Breaking into the tree line, she heard DiAmato announce their arrival at the extraction point and clear the LZ as safe. The controller directed the trio of "heavy" Quinjets to approach the landing zone and DiAmato advised he was popping red smoke.

"Super 3-9. Pathfinder copies red smoke," the pilot responded from the recording.

The rest of Echo team and the hostages came into view of her camera, as Allison raced on to the rendezvous. The three large body, transport Quinjets were just touching down and the colored smoke from DiAmato's marker swirled around them. The agents boarded the downed ramps quickly, Fire Team Bravo hustling the rescued doctors into the jet designated Super 3-9. With Allison climbing on board, the engines roared to full power as the pilot prepared to lift off. 

The sound of ricocheting gunfire in the Quinjet cabin from the audio saw Allison's point of view swing back behind her to the open rear of the plane. Her camera showed Supers 3-7 and 3-8 already rising out of the LZ as a pair of HYDRA soldiers assaulted the jets, one firing on the two airborne SHIELD planes and the other on Super 3-9. Allison raised her rifle to return fire on the video feed and another video showed Salsman do the same. DiAmato's camera showed him looking down over an injured scientist on the deck of the jet, as the pilot began to take off and raise the ramp. Their attacker cut down, Allison and Salsman's view adjusted to the second soldier who had turned his fire on them. The soldier charged forward, as the evasive liftoff upset the agents off target. The soldier reached, throwing a grenade into the narrowing opening of the plane.

The camera on Allison's helmet captured the intense seconds of selflessness, heroism, and, as Rumlow would later describe it, "dumb fucking luck and sheer stupidity". Allison lunged forward, snatching up the grenade in one hand, as it rolled on the deck, and punched her fist into the emergency button of the ramp control on the bulkhead. The ramp dropped open again suddenly and Allison's arm came forward as she hurled the grenade back out to the soldier. The explosion that followed, as the grenade's fuse was spent, threw Allison against the bulkhead. The force sent a scratch of static through the camera's recording as warning alarms sounded from the cockpit and the pilot struggled to control the jet's attitude at the loss of one of the engines.

"Super 3-9. Super 3-9. Flame out, engine tw-"

Allison paused the recordings again to address the Council. "The resulting airburst injured only myself and terminated the hostile. Dr. Ericsson succumbed to his wounds almost immediately. All attempts to resuscitate Dr. Ericsson were unsuccessful. The damage to Super 3-9 was minimal and did not hinder my team's exfil with the remaining hostages."

"While the Swiss government remains thankful to SHIELD for the recovery of their missing scientists, this should have been a textbook recovery and the death of Dr. Ericsson is an unacceptable failure. As the leader of Fire Team Bravo and custodian to the care of the hostages, you are aware that you will be responsible for any and all liabilities and consequences of Operation Thunderbolt and the death of Dr. Ericsson, should the Council find your actions, or the actions of your team, negligent?" Councilwoman Hawley asked.

"Yes, Madam Councilwoman," Allison nodded.

"Do you have any further information or comments to add to your testimony?"

"No, ma'am."

"Very well," Councilwoman Hawley conceded. "This hearing is adjourned until Council has rendered its decision. Thank you all for your cooperation."

Director Fury and Allison stood. Behind them, in the gallery, Capt. Rogers and Rumlow rose as well. Allison came to attention as the Council members filed from the room. Secretary Pierce crossed from his seat in the otherwise empty gallery to meet the spies at their table. Allison remained squared, until put at ease by Pierce.

"At ease, Lt. Addams," Pierce said, with a casual wave of his hand. "Business is over, for now. You can relax."

"Yes, Sir," Allison said, softening her posture and her arms comfortably folding behind her back.

"Well, Nick," Pierce began, looking at Fury, "what do you think?"

"She'll be fine," the Director assured him. "Lt. Addams is no more responsible for this mess than you or I. I'm sure The Council will recognize Lt. Addams' actions saved several lives that night and provided valuable intel that HYDRA is still very much alive and well."

"You believe that, after all these years, HYDRA has just been lying dormant, waiting in the shadows?" the Secretary asked. "For what end?"

"I believe we should never underestimate our enemy," Fury told him. "It's no accident that compound turned out to be run by HYDRA. Kidnapping these hostages, experts in the fields of nuclear and biological weapons- I shudder to think the end HYDRA has planned. And the Council should, too. If they do anything less than commend Lt. Addams-"

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Pierce interrupted, with a smile. "I'm sure The Council will make the proper decision and address how to handle this new information concerning HYDRA."

"I'm sure they will," Fury confidently agreed.

Pierce looked over the group and smiled, leaving with a nod goodbye. Fury clapped a hand on Allison's arm, with a reassuring and firm nod before gathering the files from his seat at the table and taking his leave. When he was gone, Allison drew in a deep breath and pushed it out through puffed cheeks. She fell back into her chair, slumping in exhaustion of her 6 hour testimony in the three day investigation and wringing her finger through the collar of her dress uniform to slightly loosen the tie at her neck.

Rogers reached out a hand to give her shoulder a squeeze. He had been keeping a close eye on the inquiry, eager to keep tabs on all things HYDRA and give Allison moral support. "Good work, Ally," he smiled. "It'll be alright."

"Don't worry about it," Rumlow added, folding his arms confidently over his chest. "It's just a formality. They'll clear this bullshit in the morning. We'll have you and Echo back in rotation before lunch tomorrow."

Allison nodded her agreement, as she rubbed her brow in one hand. "God damned dog and pony show," she muttered.

"He's right," the Captain nodded. "They can't argue that HYDRA isn't responsible for Ericsson's death. You saved the lives of everyone on that transport. You're a hero."

"She's fucking lucky, that's what she is," Brock snorted, with a shake of his head and a disapproving smirk.

"She's fuckin' hungry," Allison added.

They laughed and Rogers kicked the toe of his boot into the side of her pump. "Come on then," he smiled. "Let's get some dinner and forget about this for awhile."

"Let's get a drink and forget about this for a while," Allison suggested, standing up. She tugged down her uniform jacket and smoothed the front of her skirt as she followed the men out.

"I second that idea," Rumlow laughed.

"Motion carries," Rogers announced. "Barny's it is."

July 2015

Allison's eyes tracked the patrol that passed along the Southeast edge of the inner perimeter fence. They must have been bored, their pace was decidedly unmotivated. The longer they took to move along, the less time she had to pick and slip through the gate before the next round came by. She understood the lack of interest in their work in the light but steady rain that fell, but the guards were trying her patience.

"Any day now, sweetheart," came Barnes' semi-impatient voice in her ear.

She knew he was watching her. Allison tipped her hand up at shoulder height and held up her middle finger as she watched the HYDRA soldiers trudge along. If they weren't close enough to hear, she would have come back with her own snarky comment. His chuckle came over the channel and she smirked, putting her hand down to blade along the wide tree she was using for cover. The guards moved far enough down the fence for her to rise and creep over to the gate nearby.

Working the lock, Barnes kept watch over the patrol and updated her on their direction and movements. She opened the lock, slipped through the fence and dummy locked the gate in less than a minute. Allison sprinted across the base grounds, dipping in and out of shadows and cover as she closed the 200 meters from the perimeter fence to her target location. Barnes warned her of a guard on the roof's wandering gaze her way and she ducked behind an empty deuce and a half near the command building. She crawled underneath, inching her way closer to the building's entrance, waiting for the "all clear" from her overwatch. A long minute later, she was on the move, with a parting wish of luck from Barnes as she entered the security code she'd gleamed from her earlier recon and stole her way into the building.


	23. Chapter 23

July 2012

There are four horsemen of the apocalypse. Heralding the end of the world and leaving nothing but death and destruction in their wake, they are the embodiment of fear. In STRIKE, there existed an unofficial record of lethality, classified to the highest level of security clearance and part of the regular assessment of each member of the teams. A cumulative number based on a combination of scores from fitness assessments, weapons qualifications, several performance areas evaluated during training exercises and on missions, and the number of confirmed kills an operator had. The four operators who sat at the top of the statistical data at the end of each year garnered special assignments and one of the four prestigious call signs of The Horsemen. Those operators, with very rare exception, came from Echo.

They were reclassified in their personnel files with additional clearance to Level 9, as their work entailed such high levels of secrecy, and were rewarded with special equipment and additional compensation for the time they carried the assignment- until they were dethroned by another teammate, resigned the position, or were killed in the line of duty. The titles hardly ever changed hands as operators who became Horsemen never resigned the position unless under the most exceptional of circumstances. It was almost unheard of to have two simultaneous changes in the elite assignment. But Greenly never quite recovered from a shrapnel wound to his shoulder last year, causing his performance rating to dip, and Barrows was looking to transfer into a command position with an undisclosed, high security level project.

The ramp of the Quinjet lowered to the bay of Landing Pad 5 and a pair of First Squad operators escorted a shackled prisoner beneath a black hood down the ramp, as Rumlow walked up. Mickelson called the team to attention by calling out the CO was on deck. The squad had been policing up their gear to deplane and froze on spot, dropping items in hand and snapping to attention to face the Commander at the rear of the plane. Rumlow looked up from the tablet in his hand and scanned the nameless black uniforms and the masks and helmets covering the black and green camo painted faces of the squad. He let out a small, aggravated sigh from a bored expression.

"Which of you fuckers is Addams and Strickland?" he asked. A pair of right hands instantly shot up with a unison call of 'Here, Sir' from unseen lips to identify the operators in question. Brock nodded. "You two, load out to the armory and see me in my office ASAP."

Gear stowed and weapons secured, Addams and Strickland were standing side by side before Rumlow's desk fifteen minutes later. Balaclavas balled up in helmets in hand, they waited quietly for their commander to end a phone call. Allison hung a hand casually from the front of her body armor, pulling it away from her and letting some of the trapped heat escape her vest. The cramped, three hour flight after a quick grab-n-go mission, the hurrying in the building, and hustling to secure their equipment had her more than ready to hit the showers. While she tried to figure out what they could possibly be in trouble for to warrant an immediate visit to the boss' office, she wiped at the sweat on her lip and frowned at the green grease paint that transferred to her gloved thumb. She just wanted to go home.

Rumlow hung up the phone without a goodbye and with a short drop of the handset into the cradle. He seemed less than thrilled about something. He straightened up in his chair, tapped a button to lock his computer, and eyed Allison and her partner for a moment. He picked up a pair of thick, sealed manila envelopes, putting one in each hand and tossing them to the edge of his desk to land in front of the operators.

"Congratu-fucking-lations," he told them, still as uninterested as he had been in the hangar. Allison's eyes flicked down to the envelope for a moment and then back to Brock as he went on. "You two lucky sons'a bithces are getting promoted."

"Sir?" Strickland questioned.

"End of the year review's finished," Rumlow explained. "You're moving up. You're replacing Barrows and Greenly. You two are now part of The Four."

Allison's brow creased in disbelief. She knew she was a top performer on Echo. She was consistent, squared away, already had a leadership position with her own fire team, had several commendations and awards from missions under her belt, and was a regular name at the top of qualification lists. But she never would have suspected she rated high enough for this assignment. With a little bit of shame, she admitted to herself she never would have expected them to give a woman the title, regardless of their performance.

"You have 24 hours to accept or decline the assignment," Brock advised them. "You accept, complete these packets and return them to me by this time tomorrow. If you decline, I want written notice, in triplicate, on my desk by the end of the clock. You fail to reply in time, I move down the list. I don't want an answer now. Take the night to think it over." He settled into the back of his chair. "Do _not_ make this decision lightly. You accept the spot and you will be put in considerable more danger than you already are, expect half of your mission time to be unsupported- without your squad, and you will lose even more time away from whatever family you have. Don't come bitching to me three months from now crying about how you didn't know how hard it would be on you. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Sir," the operators answered in unison, a small smirk coming to their camouflaged faces as Strickland tapped an almost imperceptible fist bump to Allison's knuckles.

"Knock that shit off," Rumlow grumbled, plainly having seen the small maneuver. "Save it for when you turn that paperwork in tomorrow. Strickland, you're dismissed. DiAmato wants to see you in Briefing Room 2 before you leave. Addams, have a seat and read me in about this last run."

"Yes, Sir," Strickland said, picking up the envelope in front of him. He flashed a cocky smile at Allison, as he turned to leave.

Allison set her helmet in one of the seats in front of the desk and sat down in the other. Brock watched the door close behind Strickland, as Allison pulled off her gloves and tossed them into the upturned helmet beside her. The neatness of her braided hair long dismantled by removing her face mask, she curled away a stray lock out of the paint beginning to oil up on her cheek while she waited. With the sound of the latch clicking shut, Brock leaned his chair back and kicked his right boot up onto the corner of his desk. He rubbed his brow with the thumb and forefinger of his right hand, as he leaned into the armrest. Drawing his hand tiredly down his face and into a fist at his jaw, he studied Allison for a long moment and she knew he didn't really want a debriefing for her latest mission. 

He let out a slow breath. "You gonna do it?" Rumlow asked.

She took a deep breath, with a small nod, before answering. "Yeah. I think I might."

Brock nodded. "I figured you might," he told her, his hand dropping into his lap.

"You don't think I should?"

"This is your decision," he told her. "I'm not gonna tell you what you should do. I think you deserve it, though. You put in the work, you earned it. It's a helluva lot 'a money."

"Money's not everything," she said.

He smiled at her, admiring and warm. "You're a good kid, Addy," he said. "A lot 'a guys would be putting knives in backs for this spot and the perks you got comin'."

"Those guys are probably in it for the wrong reasons," she replied, with a small shrug.

Brock considered her another moment. "You know," he began, "your skill set, your numbers...you're making a run to rival The Widow. Nipping at her heels. It wouldn't be a stretch to overtake her by the end of the year, especially if you pick up this assignment." He folded his arms across his chest. "I don't see you coming off this post for a long time. It could bring you some opportunities you hadn't considered."

"You think maybe we're being a little generous with our analogies here?" she asked, doubting her position in STRIKE.

"You turn in those papers, get the clearance, and I can show you how right the numbers are," he assured her. Rumlow put his foot back down and leaned into the edge of his desk, folding his arms over one another and comfortably rolling his shoulders forward. "I'm proud of you, Addy. You're on a lot of important people's radars. You're breaking ground again here. ...It starts getting tricky when you get this close to the top."

"This is kinda starting to sound like a warning speech instead of a congratulations," Allison noted, with a small smirk.

Rumlow chuckled quietly. "You got nothing to worry about," he promised. "You know I'll always look out for you. ...But this is a seriously fucking big deal. Whatever you decide, I'll support it." He pointed to the door. "I already know that fuck mook is gonna take it."

Allison smiled and a small chuckle shook her shoulders. She looked back and forth between Brock's eyes and he leaned back with a deep rock into his chair again, staring back and rubbing at the short stubble on his chin. Chewing on the inside of her lower lip and setting her jaw forward thoughtfully, she broke the silence.

"You know I'm gonna take it, too," she told him.

Brock smiled, fond and knowing, but with the slightest hint of sadness that didn't escape Allison's notice. "I knew you would," he told her.

She wasn't sure where the undertone came from. She decided to chalk it up to concern, considering the higher risk she would be assuming on solo missions. The air was a little heavy in the room and it was quiet for a moment. Allison sat forward in her seat, leaning her elbows on her knees and folding her hands loosely in front of her.

"Can I ask you something?" she inquired, with a curious squint.

"Yeah, babe," he invited, with a faint smile.

"Did you really have to ask me to raise my hand on the jet?" she asked, a smile cracking at the corner of her painted mouth.

Brock leaned forward, laying his arms across the desk, lacing his fingers flat over the wood, and his chest touching the edge of the desk to lower his eyes to her leaning level. "Baby," he began, his voice low, brow cocked, and a lascivious smirk on his lips, "I don't care how much gear and grease you're under, I'd know those beautiful blue eyes and that body anywhere."

Allison straightened up and laughed, giving him an approving nod. She picked up the envelope from his desk and tucked it under her arm. His eyes looking up at her from his low place along the desk, she stood up with a pleased smile and grabbed her helmet from the chair next to her.

Rumlow straightened up into his chair again. "You goin' home?" he asked, unlocking his computer.

Allison nodded. "Been thinking about a shower the whole ride back."

"I'll be about 30 minutes behind you," he told her. "We'll order in tonight. Just gotta send some stuff on about this meeting with you and Strickland." Brock raised a suggestive eyebrow as he typed something into the computer. "You sure you don't wanna leave that paint?"

She laughed, pointing a finger up to her camouflaged face and neck. "This does something for ya, huh?" she asked.

He smirked, his chest popping in a silent laugh before he stopped his typing to look at her. "Baby, everything about you does something to me," he assured her. "You wanna smear some ‘a that paint around, let me know. I'll leave right now."

Jan 2013

Allison skimmed over the activation notification on her phone, as she walked down the hall of the 29th floor of the Triskelion's tower B. Checking her watch, she had a solid 40 minutes before she needed to see Rumlow for her next assignment. It was a perk to being in rotation and getting a call out while her team was in the building for 'business hours'. She decided to head down to the cafeteria for a fast lunch.

She had a habit of scanning open doors; of subtly pieing hallway corners and turns, as she walked. An imperceptible tactical habit she never had an inkling to try and shake, even when she was in the familiar and safe surroundings of the Triskelion. Passing by the open doorway of Briefing Room 1, Allison caught sight of the imposing frame of Captain Rogers, seated at the end of a row of tables and hunched forward onto his elbows. The listless cock of his dropped head made her stop, taking a half-step backward to double check what she thought she saw. Seeing Rogers in the uncharacteristically weak posture drew her inside.

Allison stepped carefully, methodically slow but sure to make enough noise to be heard. The last thing she wanted to do was come off as trying to sneak up on the super soldier. Letting her footfall be heard, Allison watched Rogers straighten up a bit and seem to wipe a hand down his face before he twisted at the waist and looked behind him. He flashed a friendly, but brief, smile.

"Hey, Cap," Allison smiled back.

"Hey yourself," he said, the attempt without much energy behind it.

Coming up beside him, Allison spied the open dossier on the tablet in front of him. She recognized James Buchanan Barnes in his last known service photo. Allison kept her pace to walk to the aisle ahead of him, hoping he didn't catch her glance at the file; hoping not to intrude too deeply or upset him.

She turned around a chair from the table in front of the Captain and sat down. Slouching back comfortably in her seat, she tipped her head towards the tablet on his table and played dumb. "Got a mission coming up?" 

Rogers looked down at the screen in front of him and the deep breath he took in broadened his chest and shoulders for a moment. "No," he answered on the exhale. "I had one...a long time ago."

"You alright, Steve?" Allison gently pressed.

He put on a feeble smile, the corners of his tightly pulled lips barley high enough to not be considered a frown, as he spun the tablet around to show her. Allison sat up, reaching out a hand to pull the device closer under her fingertips. She took up the screen, her eyes running briefly over the file. She caught the dates in the upper corner of the dossier and a quick frown dipped the sides of her mouth as she realized the reason behind the Captain's wounded posture. 

"68 years ago, to be exact," Allison noted and Rogers solemnly nodded. "Anniversaries like these are never easy."

"They're not," he agreed.

Allison gave the photo of Barnes one more look, bending her lips into a thoughtful smile and raising an intrigued brow. "But, man, look at the swagger on him," she mused. "Damn."

"I thought you were still dating the investment banker," the Captain smirked, taking back the tablet when Allison offered it.

"A girl can look," she said, with a cocky shrug.

Rogers chuckled, looking fondly at the image of his lost friend. "Yeah," he nodded. "Bucky had that effect on women."

"I'm sorry," Allison offered, with a kind smile. "I didn't know what day it was. I didn't mean to interrupt. I just saw you from the door and I-" She shrugged. "You looked like you might need a friend."

"Thanks," he told her, with a small bob of his head. "I appreciate it." Rogers looked up at her and gave a firm nod. "I really do. You've always been a good friend, Ally."

"You make it pretty easy, Cap," she grinned. Her smile widened when her compliment elicited a small grin and snort from him in reply. 

In the cargo pocket of her STRIKE uniform pants, Allison's phone chimed a new message and she checked the screen. Inclining his head toward the device in her hand, Rogers sent back her first question to him. "Got a mission coming up?" 

"Yeah," she distractedly said, her eyes studying the update. "They just moved up my briefing time," she sighed.

"Sounds important," the Captain assumed.

"Some jackass up to some fuckery in Bangui, in the CAR," Allison explained, sounding a bit indifferent and simultaneously mildly annoyed. "No quick lunch for me."

Rogers snorted softly as she gave a pouting frown at the loss of her lunch. "All of First Squad going out on this one?" he asked.

Allison shook her head. "Just me and a couple of the boys."

The Captain thoughtfully nodded and cocked up his brow. "Be careful," he cautioned. "It's a rough neighborhood, lately."

Allison smiled her thanks for his concern. "I know."

"You gimme a call if you need a hand," he winked.

"I will," Allison chuckled, nodding and pressing her lips together for a moment. She looked back up at Rogers. "You gonna be alright?" she asked, pausing at the edge of her seat before she rose, giving him a concerned once over.

He flashed her a thankful smile. "I'll be fine," Rogers assured her. "Thanks, Ally."

"Anytime," she told him, standing to go. Allison slipped her phone back in her pocket and added, "Shouldn't be gone more than three days tops. Gimme a call and we'll get a drink, or five; toast the good memories about Sgt. Barnes."

Rogers agreed with a small snort and appreciative nod. "Sounds good."

Stepping around the corner of the table to head for the door, Allison put a hand on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze. He patted his hand gratefully over hers and she told him, "But you're buying."

The Captain finally let out a genuine laugh. "I wouldn't have it any other way," he smiled.

"It's a date then," she decidedly said, walking toward the hallway again and off to her briefing in Rumlow's office.

"I'll see you in three days. Don't be late," Rogers called after her.


	24. Chapter 24

April 2013

“What’s her rating?” Brock asked, unaware or indifferent that Allison could hear him while Mickelson finished taping her right hand.

Rollins thumbed up a paper on his clip board. “Numbers from the Farm aren't too bad. She's coming in at 89.2, overall,” he read. “Psych came back solid. PT score is consistently rising. Still, she doesn’t get her shit together, she’s out.”

“We’ll see,” Rumlow said, thoughtfully, one arm crossing him and the other bent to rub his thumb across his stubbled chin. “Give her Kowalski.”

“It's her first day back on the mat. We never took it easy on her, but...he’s a big guy, Bingo,” Jack reminded him and Brock nodded to reiterate his decision. “Kowalski, Addams- lace up,” Rollins called.

 _Fuck me_.

Kowalski was a good guy, but like Jack said- he was big. 6'3" and 231 pounds of solid muscle. Rollins said something quietly to Kowalski as he gloved up, but Allison didn’t hear. Her opponent’s broad shouldered frame seemed to tower over the 5'9" Allison, as he met her on the mat. Allison returned his polite smile to her as she tightened down the strap of her padded grappling gloves. She could almost be mad at Brock for pitting her against this behemoth, but he might actually be doing her a favor. She knew she had to get her numbers up and, if she could pull it off, this was a fast way to do it. Squaring up against Kowalski, it was not a good day to have scammed the med staff to get off the Farm.

Rollins called for the sparring to begin and Allison and Kowalski danced for a moment before she went in for a strike. She was still fast, but her balance wasn’t quite right sometimes. She got one hit in before his defense was up and the fight had begun. They traded blocks, punches and kicks. He wasn’t as fast, but her hits weren’t as hard as his. He wasn’t holding back and she figured what Rollins had said to him before the bout began was a direct order not to. In a way, she didn’t want him to.

She needed to get her rating up or she risked being taken off team. Credentials, rank, reputation, and honors would mean nothing if she couldn’t show she was ready to be back; that she could fight and win. As long as X-rays and scans looked clear, she could bullshit her way off the Farm early with the shrinks. Now, all she had to do was knock down a brick wall. She had managed to hold her own for three minutes and their scrap had pulled the attention of nearly everyone in the training room, eager to see if Allison really was 'back'. Encircling the mats, they hissed and hollered as the hits came, shouting encouragement and advice to both of the brawling operators.

With white pin spots in her vision and her balance off, she fell. Hazy and disoriented from the jarring blow to her temple, a weak spot she was hiding from the doctors and everyone else while she still healed from the beatings she endured as a prisoner in Central Africa. The voices of her yelling teammates came to her in a melded fog, dull and distant. She crushed her eyes closed, her limbs pulling in and trying to find the feel of solid ground beneath her to stand.

Kowalski stepped over to check the damage, but was waved away by the angry CO. “Back the fuck up,” Rumlow told him, pointing Kowalski away and storming onto the mat. Rumlow dropped, proned out on the mat, his face inches from hers, as she tried to pull it together.

“Get up,” he commanded, growling and insistent. “Get. the fuck. up.” His was the only voice clear enough to come through. “Who trained you? Huh?..I did. I trained you to do _one_ thing- keep moving. …We don’t move, we die. …Are you dead?”

Her fists found the floor under her bent arms and she brought her head up, trying to shake away the haze. “No.”

“Are you _hurt_?” he demanded.

“No,” she breathed out, pushing into her fists to right herself. It was a lie. It wasn’t just a lucky shot, she was in too soon.

“Then get up, Addams,” he ordered. “ _Get up_! Keep moving!”

She was on her feet, a slight sway to her right and it was gone. Her vision cleared and she could breath deep again. Rumlow popped tall from the mat, standing dangerously close to the action with his arms crossed tightly across his chest and brow folded in intense focus.

“Get in there,” he growled.

The operators traded blows again, Allison playing it close to Kowalski, trying to cut his range of motion to keep some of the power out of his strikes. All she needed was one good shot. She dipped under his cross and saw her chance. She latched a hand behind his neck and climbed up to his shoulder, one foot at his knee and the other running up his stomach. She hooked her leg over his shoulder and, with both hands clasped behind his neck, threw her shoulders back to pull him forward and to the ground with her. He threw a pair of blind punches at her core and she trapped him in an armbar, his head and neck still locked between her thighs and knees.

They pulled at each other on the ground, Kowalski trying to take back his arm with blows into her side and Allison holding him down and squeezing him into submission, as she felt his hits soften and saw the red rise in his face. Kowalski tapped out to the testosterone fueled cheers of the STRIKE team members gathered around. She let go and Kowalski rolled back onto his heels to find his breath.

Taking her own second on the mat, she reached out to accept Kowalski’s pull up to her feet. He pulled her in for a tired bear hug, patting her back as congratulations while they swayed together in a moment of fatigue. Kowalski let her go, as her friends and teammates gathered around her to cheer her victory. She caught sight of Rumlow speaking to Rollins off the mat. While Jack made a note on his clipboard, Brock gave her a single nod.

July 2015

HYDRA uniforms made her skin crawl. While she could appreciate the usefulness of the their patches as she moved through the command building, and despite there being no other difference in the garmets from her uniforms for SHIELD, they nonetheless made her uncomfortable. It was good spycraft and a tactical advantage to blend in in the enemy camp. She shook her head at her own discomfort and at the simultaneous good fortune that she had the clothes to wear from the bunker in the first place. Still, she hated the nods and chin juts she gave as greeting to the few HYDRA soldiers she passed in the halls, mistaking her for one for their own.

There wasn't much detail to the plan for once she was in the building. They had no schematics and Barnes didn't recall ever having come to this facility. If he had, she doubted he would have spent much time in this particular building anyway. Instead, Allison moved through the hallways, looking for hints. Cameras, heavier grade locks, steel doors, security clearance warnings- anything to indicate something of value was there. When she came to the next corner, she saw her opportunity. An open office door and a suited agent leaving his work station unlocked as he headed down the hallway on his phone.

Checking the corridors around her, she took note of a camera in the ceiling corner. Seeing no one, Allison pulled on her hooded mask to hide her face from the camera and slipped into the office. Scrolling through the desktop, she cued files to download. While the computer copied personnel records, facility locations, mission reports, logistics records, and deployment information to her thumb drive, Allison tried to work around the encryption for code named project files on one of the network drives. She heard the HYDRA agent on the phone coming back down the hallway.

Allison darted from the computer and hid herself along the wall beside the doorway. When the man crossed the threshold of the door, his forehead met the end of her stun baton. He fell forward to the floor, his cup of hot coffee and phone falling from his hands, as Allison went back to grab the thumb drive from the computer. She pulled the door shut behind her and made a run down the hallway, headed for the outside. Coming around a corner, she surpised a pair of soldiers. The uniform did her no good when the men saw her covered head and moved to grab her.

Allison struck hard, knocking the nearest agent backward into the wall, giving her more room to address his partner. She speared her knuckles into his windpipe and sent him to his knees, clutching his throat and choking for air. The top of her boot across his cheek crumbled him to the ground in an unconscious heap. The first man had drawn his gun from his side and was bringing it to bear on her when she grabbed his wrist, pushing his arm down and past her side as she drove a knee into his stomach. The gun went off, the round breaking into the wall behind her, as Allison grabbed the back of his neck, forcing his head down as her knee came up. The soldier lost his grip on his weapon as he slumped backward into the wall, dazed. Allison flipped the gun in her hand, firing one shot into the soldier at her feet who grabbed her leg as he came back around. She put a pair of rounds quickly into the dazed agent in front of her as he made a play for her throat.

"Wildcard, is that gunfire, I hear?" Barnes' sarcastic tone asked, with what sounded like a chuckle. "SitRep?"

"Fast and dirty, Dealer," she answered, putting a pair of bullets into a responding guard down the hall ahead of her. "This one's falling apart."

"Alarm's gone up," he advised, just as the klaxon went off inside the building. "They're coming in."

Allison was already back at the door when she announced she was coming out. Bursting through the door and back out into the rain, she pulled off her hood and threw it aside, giving her a chance to blend in with the HYDRA soldiers as she sprinted into the open. The pair of agents on the outside of the fence, who had walked past her before, were back at the gate and coming inside the perimeter. With the gate opened, one of the men realized she was running out instead of in and raised his rifle at her, ordering her to stop. He fell a split second later, a mix of blood and tissue blasting from his neck as a silent .50 calibre round severed his spinal chord and his lifeless body hit the ground. Allison took out the remaining guard with two to the chest and one to the head.

"You're welcome," Barnes' voice said, dryly in her ear.

"Yeah, thanks," she told him, rushing back into the treeline and headed for their rally point.

"Anytime," he said. "Your six is good. Clearing overwatch. Moving out."

Allison raced through the woods, ducking under branches and splashing through mud. Behind her, the alarm on the base dimmed with the more ground she covered and she smiled when the only sounds she heard was her footfall and the rain in the trees. There had been a little more trouble than she had hoped for, but she had stolen more than enough intel to make up for it. Just ahead of her, a figure moved through the shadow and stopped at the crest of the hill. Barnes adjusted the sling of his rifle over his shoulder and gave her a smirk.

"Well, that was a bit of unexpected fun," he quipped.

"Worth it," she smiled, holding up the thumb drive for him to see.

Barnes nodded his approval and took the drive, turning it over in his hand. "You hit?"

"I'm good," she told him, pushing an errant lock of rain soaked hair off her brow.

He pocketed the thumb drive and turned back to Allison. He gave her a discerning look, putting his hand under her chin and turning her face, as he asked, "Is that _your_ blood?"

Allison gave him a questioning look and he pointed toward her temple. She wiped her hand over her brow, feeling no pain underneath the pull, and looked at her hand. She shook her head and shrugged. He took his hand away, giving her an amused smirk.

"I'm fine," she said, taking an extra swipe at her head with the back of her hand to make sure her face was clear.

"You always are," he agreed. 

Allison smiled back. "Let's get out of here. I'm ready for some dry clothes."

They turned, headed back towards the road and their getaway car a mile away. Falling in beside Barnes, Allison dropped the magazine from the pistol in her hand, checking to see how much ammuniton was left. With only a pair of rounds left, she locked the magazine back in place and made a move to throw the gun away. She didn't have a place to secure it on her and wasn't intersted to carry it around anyway. Barnes saw and reached out to stop her.

"Here," he said, holding out his hand to take it. "It's still a good gun."

Allison shrugged and handed it over. Barnes slipped the pistol into the back of his waistband. She was about to ask if he was hungry, thinking of stopping at a drive-thru on the way back to the motel, when the forest around them suddenly lit up. Above them, the trees whipped under the wash of the engines of a Quinjet and shadows spread and danced over them as the spotlight on the belly of the jet broke through the branches.

"God damn it," Barnes compained, barely audible over the noise of the jet.

They flinched for a fraction of a second, assessing their escape. Around them, the beams of several weapon mounted flashlights were coming in from all sides. They traded a look and Barnes took up his rifle. Allison pulled her pistol from the holster on her thigh and took a last look around, thinking. She turned to Barnes, pressing the barrel of her gun into the base of his skull. He froze.

"What the fuck?" he snapped, turning his head just enough to see her in his periperphy.

"I'm sorry," she said, looking him in the eye. "But there's no other options."

"Kate," he breathed angrily, "what are you doing?"

Allison didn't answer. The soldiers were moving in too fast. Barnes' eyes ticked left then right before settling back on her. Quicker than she could avoid, Barnes turned, throwing up his metal arm to knock away her weapon. He twisted, throwing a cross into her face and a palm strike into her gut, sending her staggering back a couple of steps. Barnes swung his rifle behind him and turned, heading toward the car to make a break for it, as he drew the pistol from behind his back and one off his side to fight his way through the approaching line of soldiers. That's when the shot rang out.

Barnes tumbled forward, falling to a knee, his left leg struck out at his side and bleeding from a gunshot wound above his knee. He spun on his good knee to see the shooter behind him as the second shot came, punching through his shoulder and sending his rotation off balance. He fell down on his hip, pulling up his metal hand to apply pressure over his latest wound. His eyes tracked up as Allison stood over the top of him, gun barrel steaming the drops of rain with its heat, as she pointed it between his eyes and wiped the back of her hand over the busted lip he'd given her. He put the pistol he'd managed to hold on to on target at her face.

"Don't," she warned. "They'll drop you before you finish that first squeeze."

They were out of time. Three soldiers roped down through the trees from the jet above as the agents on foot arrived to surround Allison and Barnes. The jet drifted away, the spotlight illuminating the clearing nearby where it set down. A HYDRA agent barked commands for Allison to drop her weapon, but she stood firm. She tapped her gun into Barnes' forehead, tipping her head to tell him to throw away his weapons. Reluctantly and slowly, Barnes lowered and tossed aside his pistol and pulled the sling over his head to lay down his rifle.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Barnes muttered, before a soft, maniacal laugh. "You fucking bitch. You were one 'a them all along."

There was some confusion among the HYDRA soldiers. Allison might be one of them. She was in their uniform and holding a man at gunpoint. He was clearly her prisoner. The apparent squad leader stepped forward, rifle trained on Allison's head while the rest of his men covered Barnes. He ordered her to identify herself. Before she could speak, prepared to give the HYDRA serial number she had memorized from Brock's tablet, new orders were given.

"Stand down, Ossman," the command came loud and strong. Another man came forward, silhouetted by the jet's light behind him and flanked by a pair of soldiers on his right and left. "She's one of ours. Secure the prisoner."

Allison swallowed hard, pulling away her weapon and taking a step back, as the soldiers moved in to make their arrest. She holstered her weapon and turned to see who was in charge. The voice was unmistakable, but she was still afraid to believe without seeing. Brock Rumlow was there.

April 2013

  
“Hey,” Brock said, quiet and easy.

Allison was balled up on her couch when he let himself in. She had just woken up to the sound of his keys in the door and rubbed her thumb into the corner of her eye, as she squinted at the light from the lamp he turned on. She looked to the window. It had been light out when she fell asleep on the couch, a byproduct of the pain meds she was low dosing and only when she absolutely had to, trying not to take them at all. She was driven in first thing in the morning from the Farm for her first day of her 'fit for duty' assessments at the Triskelion. She'd pushed through all the evals until then and conned the doctors into keeping her on track for early release from the Farm. Her car had been left in the garage since she parked it there the day she left for Africa. She drove herself home, with a ringing in her head after she was dismissed in the afternoon. Making her drowsy or not, she needed the pills today. Now, it was dark and she wasn’t sure how long she’d slept.

Rumlow crouched down between the couch and coffee table, sitting back with a soft sigh and bringing up a knee. He laid his arm along the top of the pillow under her head for his hand to push softly into her hair. Brock watched her carefully for a minute and she closed her heavily lidded eyes, while he ran his fingers through her hair.

“You okay, baby?” he asked, low and gentle. "Tough first day back, huh?"

Allison nodded, curling her fist tiredly under her chin. He reached out to rest his free hand on her arm, gliding his thumb soothingly back and forth. Allison felt a little uncomfortable under his concerned gaze. Pity wasn't something she was used to and she didn't want it from him or for him to think less of her. She closed her eyes again, for a long moment, as she nuzzled her face into the pillow.

“You did good today, Addy,” he told her, reassuring and with a warm smile. “I’m proud of you. …I know it hurts.”

“I’m okay,” she told him, clearing her throat to wake her voice.

“You’re gonna be,” he promised, still as kind as when he came in. He gave her arm a light squeeze and stood up. “C'mon.” He offered her his hand. “Let’s get you to bed.”

She slipped her hand into his and sat up. There was a small wince, as a sharp pain went through her ribs. The morning’s sparring had aggravated her newly healed cracked ribs and the muscles nearby spasmed as she moved. Brock put a hand to her shoulder to keep her still. Allison inhaled deeply through her nose and pushed the pain away. Brock cupped a hand to her face, lifting her chin to see her and his thumb stroked down her cheek tenderly.

"You're okay," he assured her. "I gotcha, sweetheart."

Rumlow bent down, slipping one arm behind her knees and the other around her waist. He picked her up carefully, hugging her close, as she wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her head on his shoulder. He sidestepped along the couch and carried her down the hall to her room. Brock put a knee into the bed and leaned down to ease her to the mattress. He helped move her feet under the covers and turned on the lamp on the nightstand, as she settled back into her pillow.

“I’m gonna go make us some dinner,” he told her, bending down to press a long kiss to her forehead and run his hand back through her hair one more time. "Just relax and I’ll bring you somethin' for the pain. Tomorrow, I want you to get with Whitfield. I know you got cleared after your session before you came home, but I want a second opinion."

"He's your medic on Delta," Allison questioned. "Why would I go to your doc instead of back to Medical?"

"'Cause I wanna keep this off book," Brock told her. "He's gonna take care of you, so we can keep your evals positive. Something's wrong, you go straight to him. I wanna play this close for awhile. Doc knows to only talk to me about it. Alright? Let me take care of this."

Allison nodded, appreciative that he was trying to help her instead of holding her back. "Okay."

Brock paused a moment, his lips parted as if he were trying to figure out what to say. "I didn't want to say anything while you were at the Farm," Rumlow said, scratching at the back of his neck and pocketing his free hand. "I didn't want to upset your recovery or anything. But now that you're back," he told her then hesitated, rubbing the side of his finger across his chin, "I wanted to tell ya... About Africa- The outfit that grabbed you...it's been taken care of. They were an upstart in the region, a cell expanding their reach. We didn't know they were operating there yet."

Allison nodded and was quiet for a moment. "How did it happen? How did they know?"

"It shouldn'ta happened," he said, firmly, with his jaw working forward, plainly still irritated about the compromised mission. "They got fuckin' lucky, running a wide scope counter-sniper system in the city. It was part of their net to map out Motsepe's operations, gearing up to take over his interests. They're good. They were working their way up the threat list fast; disciplined, professional. We're talking the likes of HYDRA. A bunch 'a crazy sons 'a bitches zeroed in on seizing control, resources, and territory through manipulating local governments with strategic terrorism and overpowering local heavy hitters. The only thing we don't know, is how they picked you out." He waited for her eyes to catch his before he told her, "They're all gone. I promise you. Every last one of those mother fuckers in that city. ...Addy, I'm sorry it me took so long to find you."

Allison's gaze drifted down, her lips pressing together in thought. She shook her head and inhaled deeply, telling him, "No apologies. You came. Thank you."

He smiled down at her, a gentle grin lined with apology and concern still. "I'm glad you're home, baby. I missed you."

She sent him a warm smile, realizing it wasn't that he pitied her, but that he worried because he loved her. He'd torn through a city to find her and get revenge for her. She hadn't thought what her captivity, or the state he found her in, and her months from home may have done to him. Brock straightened up. Allison gave him another small, but thankful, smile before more muscle spasms put a brief grimace on her face. Brock tutted quietly in disapproval and frowned. He pulled his sweatshirt off over his head, balled it up, and handed it to her.

“Thought this was your favorite,” she quipped, hugging the shirt under her chin and catching the warm mix of his scent and cologne on the material.

“Nah,” he smirked, looking down at her lovingly, as he tugged his t-shirt smooth again. “Looks better on you. I barely get to wear it anymore, anyway. Besides, if it makes you smile…it’s worth it.”


	25. Chapter 25

May 2014

Allison fumbled her hand over the nightstand to find her phone. Woken from a dead sleep by the ring of an incoming call, she searched by brail. If she didn't open her eyes, maybe there was a still a chance she could fall back to sleep. Finding her cell phone under her palm, she blindly swiped her thumb, hoping the call connected, as she put the device to her ear. Her greeting was slightly muffled by her cheek in her pillow.

"Hey. It's me," Brock's familiar voice said. "I need you to wake up, babe."

Allison made a small groan of complaint, as she turned over to her back and rubbed her thumb and forefinger of her free hand in the corners of her eyes. "What time is it?" she asked.

"It's 1:09," he told her. "Addy, I need you to wake up."

"I'm up," she promised, forcing herself to sit up in bed and pulling her feet back to cross under her. She picked up on the semi-hushed importance in his voice and rested an elbow into her knee to cradle her forehead tiredly in her palm. "What's going on?"

"Fury's dead."

The two words made her body freeze and her pulse rise. She wasn't sure for a moment if she heard him right. Maybe it was a dream. Allison picked her head up and stared blankly into the darkness of her bedroom.

"What?" she breathed out.

"Fury's dead," he repeated, his voice dropping a tone, but as collected as ever.

"How? When?" she struggled, closing her eyes and shaking her head to clear it.

"Sniper," Brock simply explained. "Shot him at Rogers' apartment. Doc called it at 1:03."

"A sniper?" Allison parroted, still confused. "What the h- What was he doing at Rogers' apartment?"

"I don't know," he said.

"Do we have the shooter?" she asked.

"No."

"Jesus," she muttered, running a hand through her hair. "Do we have anything to go on? Witnesses? Ballistics?"

"No, nothing yet" Brock told her. "Forensics is working the scene right now."

It occurred to her where he said the shooting had happened. "Is Cap okay?"

"Yeah," he said. "I'm looking at him down the hall, right now. Listen, Addy-"

"Jesus Christ," she whispered, dropping her head back in her hand.

"Addy, listen to me," Brock coaxed for her attention.

"Yeah," she answered, raising her head again.

"You're going to get a call out in the next couple of minutes," Rumlow told her. "They're going to recall you to the Triskelion. The other rotation teams are gonna be parted out for protection details for high value targets in SHIELD. Echo and Delta are going to hold down the fort."

"Hold it down from what?" she wondered aloud.

"To protect the Triskelion," he said. "To make sure Insight's launch isn't interrupted. The rest of STRIKE and your team are going to be activated and recalled as well. Rollins will have watch rotations for you and the other squad leaders when everyone arrives."

"Insight?" Allison shook her head. "Insight's not ready. ...Is it?"

"It'll be operational in less than 48 hours," Brock assured her. "I don't have time for any more questions. Get what you need for the next 48 to 72 hours, at least. STRIKE will run all operations out of the Triskelion, until further notice."

Aug 2013

"What are you doin' tomorrow?" Brock asked, slouched against the front of the sofa on his living room floor, one leg stretched under the coffee table and the other bent up to shelve his arm and the tumbler of whiskey in his hand.

"Nothing," Allison sighed with a smile, eyes closed in a long, luxurious blink as she laid stretched down the couch behind him, with the cool bottom of her own glass warming on her forehead. "Absolutely fucking nothing. And it's gonna be beautiful."

He snorted softly, his crooked grin cracking open to a smile, as he nodded. "What about the day after that?"

She shrugged, moving her hand to rest her drink down at her hip, her head lolling to one side on her pillow to look down the couch at him. "Gotta get back at it on Monday. Performance evals are due next week for the boys."

"After that?" he pressed casually, taking a sip of his whiskey.

Allison smirked and nudged the back of his shoulder with her knee. "You're the boss. You know you can tap my calendar anytime," she reminded him. "Check it your damn self, ya lazy bum."

"I'm not askin' about your work calendar," he told her, nudging her elbow with his and grinning when it made her smile.

"Okay. Which day?" she offered, bringing up her whiskey for a sip.

Brock eyed the glass hanging over his knee, tipping it toward him to look directly into the brown liquor. "All of 'em," he said, before he turned his head to look at her.

Allison blinked, a small questioning in her brow, a little wary to acknowledge what she thought she heard. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, what would you say if I asked you to let me fill in the rest of those days?" he asked.

"I'd say you've probably had enough for tonight," she quipped, her only defense against the nervous flutter in her gut.

Rumlow reached forward, setting down his glass on the table and capping the bottle of Jameson in front of him, before shifting to lean his side into the couch and face her. Laying his arm on the edge of the cushions and along her side, the back of his fingers brushed softly up and down the bare skin of her arm. Brock looked her in the eye, with a small shake of his head. "You know I'm not drunk."

"Then you must be crazy," she scoffed with a quiet, and slightly uncomfortable, laugh, as she propped herself up on her elbows.

"Why not?" he casually challenged, quirking up an expectant eyebrow.

"You know why," she coughed out, half-disbelieving the topic was even open for discussion. "They'd never let it happen, not the way things are now. You're talking about one or both of us losing a whole life. Look where we are, what we can do." He didn't respond or interrupt. He only watched her, still caressing her arm, with his eyes fixed on hers. "Could you really give all that up, everything you've worked for...just to wear a piece of jewelry?"

"No," he shook his head, pulling back his hand to lift her fingertips lightly from the couch cushion and under his own, watching absentmindedly as his thumb smoothed over her nails. His pulled her hand to his lips, dotting a soft kiss on her knuckles. "But I would, if you told me to."

There was a pause between them and, if she couldn't feel her heart still beating, she would have thought the world had stopped spinning. She was stunned by the absolute certainty of his words. Her lips parted, as she searched for something to say, lost in his patient stare. She swallowed hard to speak around the lump in her throat.

"I couldn't tell you to," she admitted, as her breath fell out of her.

She knew she couldn't. As much as she loved him, she didn't have the heart. He had worked so hard for his command and his work, SHIELD and STRIKE, was his life. It was in his blood, as much as it was in hers. Regulations and decorum didn't allow two operators to be in a romantic relationship, let alone would never allow a marriage while they were both active. Especially with officers in their positions, it would be deemed too easy to compromise one with the other. One of them would have to stand down and resign the commission, or, worse, both of them would be stripped of their positions and removed from the division, if they weren't outright dismissed from SHIELD all together for their violations of the rules.

"We could do it, Addy. No one would know," he told her. "Just you and me, sneak off to an island somewhere and get hitched. We'd keep two places, different names for appearances, but you and me?" He smiled. "We'd run the world, baby."

She pressed her lips together tightly as she grinned, shied by the look of complete adoration in his eyes and smile. Her smile broke, cold reality returning as she shook her head slowly. "We can't," she sadly reminded him.

Brock inhaled deeply with an even nod. "I know," he conceded, his smile gone, replaced by a quick pull back of his lips in a frown of understanding. "I just wanted you to know...I would. You know I'd do anything for you."

July 2015

Onboard the jet, everyone stood, except the prisoner. Shackled and kneeling on the deck, Barnes seethed silently, blood from his leg wound pooling beneath him. Rumlow's fire team surrounded Barnes, weapons trained and ready to fire. At the front of the cabin, Allison stood beside Rumlow, a hand hanging on one of the rails of the ceiling to steady herself, waiting for the pilot to lift off. She stared down at BArnes, her face unreadable and nothing but loathing and contempt for her in his. Brock said nothing. He watched the prisoner carefully. 

The flight was over in minutes. Touching down on the tarmac, a medical team ran out from under the cover of one of the compound buildings with a gurney. A pair of soldiers roughly pulled Barnes to his feet and to the stretcher at the end of the jet's ramp. Barnes was strapped down and the fire team escorted their prisoner and the doctors back inside. Allison, still silent, followed behind with Brock.

Barnes was wheeled into an elevator and taken down a few floors beneath ground level to an operating theater. He was transferred to a surgical table as the armed guards circled round him, a show of force to advise him against trying to escape. A new soldier came into the room, brandishing solid metal restraints. One was applied to Barnes' wrists, folding and bracing his forearms across him, and the other clamping over his ankles. With the patient secured, the doctors went to work, cutting clothing away from the wounds. Allison turned to look over her shoulder at hearing the door open again and footsteps come inside. 

Jack made a quick survey of the room, his eyes pausing on Barnes, before he turned an angry gaze to Allison. Jack stormed up, drawing a pistol from his side and taking aim at Allison's forehead. She squared into him, looking him in the eye, her breathing steady and level, despite the spike in her pulse. Brock turned to see and barked for Jack to lower his weapon.

"The fuck is she doing here?" Jack demanded, locking his arm out for his shot.

"Stand down, Rollins," Brock ordered, strong and loud, shouldering himself between the two spies.

"She's a fuckin' traitor," Jack hissed. "How the hell did she get in here?"

"We brought her in," Rumlow said, staring him down while Allison waited. "She brought us the Asset."

"Like hell she did," Rollins spat. "She's been MIA since last year when Ithaca was taken." He shifted his eyes from Rumlow to Allison. "What have you been doing this whole time? _Huh_?"

Brock threw up an arm to knock the gun off Allison and gave Jack a simultaneous jarring blow across his jaw. A pair of soldiers broke off Barnes' detail and trained their rifles on Rollins to protect their commander. Without looking, Brock waved a hand, calling off his men. He stepped into Rollins, menacing and angry, when Jack straightened up from the hit.

"She's been on assignment," Brock growled. He pointed behind him to Barnes, firmly noting, "Mission accomplished. ...You got a problem with that?"

Jack glared defiantly between Allison, Barnes, and Rumlow. "Mission?" he scoffed. "She's not even on book-"

"I _said_ , do you have a fuckin' problem with that?!" Rumlow demanded.

Rollins took in an agitated breath. "No."

"Good," Rumlow said, his voice calmer but no less authoritative, moving back a few inches from Jack's face. "You ever pull a weapon on one of my agents again, I'll slit your god damn throat. You read me?"

"Yeah," Rollins nodded, still glaring at Allison.

Brock nodded and took a step back. He turned around, giving a quick glance to Allison before he walked over to speak to the doctors. Rollins holstered his weapon. Allison stared coolly back at him, as he moved to stand in front of her again.

"I don't know what your fuckin' game is here," Jack began, "but I've got my eye on you."

The corner of Allison's mouth ticked back into an arrogant smirk. "What'sa matter Jack?" she pouted. "Mad I did what you couldn't?"

"Listen good, you little cunt," Jack threatened, raising a finger to her face. 

Allison interrupted, before he went on. "What'd you call me?" she asked, leveling her gaze. 

Everything with Rollins was about control. What he couldn't control through his position of authority, he did through intimidation. As far as he knew, Allison was HYDRA, simply because his commanding officer just said so. Here, he didn't seem privy to her alleged status or missions and that lack of access would never sit with him. The trick to Jack was to not bend to his assertiveness. He only respected strength and confidence. Their friendship was a working one with some socializing outside of SHIELD, but the trust and respect she'd earned then had taken awhile to cultivate and was clearly negated by her disappearance last summer. Still, she hadn't expected him to be so hard and unforgiving. Rumlow had set her up again, now she had to show Rollins she was as cold as the rest of them, to drag her cover out just a little longer.

"You heard me," Rollins scoffed, taking a half step in.

"Say it again," she taunted, her hand slipping to the knife at her side and a dangerous smile coming to her lips. "I fuckin' dare you."

"Hey!" Rumlow barked, turning away from the doctors and crossing back to the dueling pair. "That's enough...both of you." He pointed at Rollins. "Get a detail ready," he instructed. "I want eyes on the Asset 'round the clock. Medical wants 48 hours before we can begin to transfer the Asset to cryo and get him back to Command for reprogramming."

Jack nodded his understanding, his jaw still working in frustration. Allison eyed the doctors working on Barnes and saw him staring at her, eyes like daggers and jaw set firm. Setting IV lines, she overheard the doctors discussing sedation and the subject turned Barnes' hate filled eyes to them. She watched as Jack turned to leave with a huff and Brock looked her over. 

"You need to get that looked at," Brock told her, quietly, nodding his head toward her cut lip.

"I'm fine," she replied, giving him a small smile of reassurance, before looking back to Barnes.

"You always are," he nodded, before a pause between them as they watched the medical staff work. "Did you have to put holes in him?" Rumlow smirked, his head ticking back with a quiet laugh.

Allison watched as the doctors exchanged some worried looks. "Didn't have any options," she shrugged, eyes leveling and ears pricking, trying to catch what the doctors were saying. If only she could only see the lips of either of the men behind their surgical masks to read.

One of the doctors looked up toward Rumlow. "Commander Rumlow, sir," he called and Brock walked back over, with Allison a couple of steps behind. "Sir, the Asset, he-" The doctor fumbled to explain. 

"What?" Brock insisted for an answer, folding his arms tightly across his chest.

"Sir, the fail safe," the doctor began again. "He's not responding to the trigger."

Barnes' vicious gaze moved around the people surrounding him. Her face unreadable again, Allison looked down at him from behind Rumlow's shoulder, as Brock asked for an explanation. Neither doctor had one. Allison took a step forward to stand at Brock's side.

"Something broke the programming," she spoke up. "That's why I shot. He didn't respond to the trigger. It doesn't work anymore."

She met Rumlow's gaze, waiting to see if he questioned it further. He stared at her a moment and then nodded, bringing a hand up to rub at his chin while he thought. Barnes fixed his eyes on Allison's. She wanted to give him a plan, to tell him to be patient, that she would get him out. But she couldn't speak to him and she didn't have a plan.

"What about sedation?" Rumlow asked the doctor.

"We've already got a line in," the doctor told him, "with no effect. We're increasing the dosage, but we don't have the supply we need to keep him under for the full 48 hours. Without the failsafe to put him down, we don't have the means to put him under for the surgery and-"

"Yeah yeah yeah," Brock nodded, waving a disinterested hand to cut him off. He eyed Barnes for a quiet moment, before Brock nodded slowly to himself. Glancing at Allison, he told her, "Back away." His eyes ticked over to the medical staff and he gave them the same instruction. "Weapons up," he barked and the soldiers around the table took aim at Barnes.

Allison took a pair of long steps backwards, as the doctors shuffled away to the corner of the room. Barnes' eyes scanned over the room, his breathing coming faster and the tone of the monitor warning of his increased heart rate. Allison watched as Rumlow took a step closer, standing near Barnes' head. He appeared to look over the restraints holding Barnes, making some kind of judgment, before he dropped his hand to grip the pistol at his side.

"Zhelaniye," Brock said, staring down at Barnes. "Rzhavyy."

Barnes grit and bared his teeth. "No," he breathed out.

"Semnadtsat’," Rumlow continued, as Allison watched Barnes crush his eyes closed, flexing and struggling against his restraints. "Rassvet...Pech’...Devyat’."

"Stop!" Barnes yelled, still straining. "Don't!"

Rumlow continued, thumbing down the retention on his holster as Barnes hissed and growled while he fought. "Dobroserdechnyy...Vozvrashcheniye na rodinu...Odin." Barnes cried out, pained and angered. "Gruzovoy vagon."

Allison could feel her own heart pounding in her chest. She didn't understand what was happening, but Barnes was still. His breathing and pulse steadied themselves and his gaze at Rumlow had gone from rage to waiting. Brock re-secured the strap over his weapon. He raised a hand, a silent command for the HYDRA agents to standby.

"Soldat?" Brock questioned.

Barnes' muscles seemed to relax and he turned his head to Rumlow. "Gotovy povinovat'sja."


	26. Chapter 26

Dec 2013

Allison shut the door behind her quickly, trying to keep out the cold. She pocketed her keys in her coat and looked down to make sure her boots weren't leaving a trail of melting snow on the floor behind her. She took off her boots and set them by the door to dry. Slipping out of her coat, she hung it on the rack in the hallway. Allison turned the corner into the living room from the hall and smiled seeing Brock on the couch and a fire already going.

He looked up from the tablet in his hand and gave her a warm smile. "Hey, babe."

"Hey yourself," she smiled, crossing over to the couch and climbing onto his lap.

Rumlow smirked up at her, locking the tablet and setting it aside on the end table to his left. "Miss me?" he asked, his hands resting on her hips.

"Christ," she complained, her hands curving on the sides of his neck as she kissed him softly between her words. "You were gone- for two weeks- Of course- I missed you."

Brocks hands came up to take hers from his neck. "Jesus, woman," he laughed. "You're hands are freezing."

"It's fuckin' no degrees outside and I ended up parked halfway down the block," she explained. "No shit, my hands are cold."

"Are you sassin' me?" he smirked, holding her wrists crossed in her lap.

"Who me?" she smiled, innocently.

He pulled on her arms, bringing her down to him to kiss her. "I'm too tired for sass tonight, sweetheart," he told her and let go of her hands.

Allison apologized with a kiss and pout. "My poor baby," she cooed.

"You're still sassing," he noted, pointing a finger at her, fighting a grin at the corner of his mouth.

Allison moved her hands from her lap to his shoulders, smoothing her palms lightly down his chest as she leaned forward to kiss him. Her hands found his ribs and he drew back with a wincing face and hissing breath. He grabbed her hands and tugged them away.

"What the hell?" Allison questioned. Resting her weight back on his knees and looking him over. "Are you hurt?"

"No," he grimaced, seeming to struggle to take a deep breath to reset his breathing. "It's nothing. I'm sorry, it's just- Not tonight, babe."

"What happened?" she asked, a look of worry on her face as she gingerly laid a hand on his arm. A move that appeared to give him some more discomfort.

"It's nothing," he repeated, the pain leaving his face.

"Something's wrong," she insisted. "Are you going to tell me or do I have to read a mission debriefing?"

"You're not cleared to read the mission debrief," he frowned at her persistence.

Allison slid off his lap and onto the couch cushion beside him. The room was quiet for a minute, save for the pop and crackle of the fire. Rumlow lined an arm along the back of the couch and the other on the armrest to adjust himself in his seat. Allison noticed the small pinch in his face as he moved and her worry couldn't be ignored.

"Dammit, Brock," she said. "Will you please tell me what happened? This is fuckin' ridiculous."

He sighed. "Just a couple 'a cracked ribs is all. It's fine."

"Let me see," she told him.

"What, are you a fuckin' doctor now?" he scoffed. "It's fine. It's taken care of."

Allison stood her ground, eyes leveled at him with disapproval. "Let me see," she repeated, more of an order than a request anymore.

He studied her for a moment. "For fuck's sake," he grumbled, moving carefully to the edge of his seat to pull his shirt up and expose a boot shaped, purple bruise near the lower left side of his rib cage.

Her breath hitched and her hand instinctually reached out. She stopped herself, just shy of touching him, with a whispered profanity from a heartbroken face. Brock shook his head, taking a quick look down at himself before he moved to put down his shirt. Allison saw something else and put her hand on his to stop him.

"What the hell is that?" she asked, pushing up part of his shirt higher with her fingers to expose the corner of a patch of gauze.

"Aw, Jesus, Addy," he groaned. "Let it go, alright?"

"Are you kidding right now?" she argued, scooting closer and pushing her hand under his shirt to see up to his shoulder. "You thought you'd find some way to hide all this?"

His hands fell away in frustration. Allison took stock of the rest of the bruise stained skin of his chest. A wide patch of gauze over his left pectoral showed a faint hint of old blood seeping through from the layers below. A swatch of scrapes across the right side of his chest reminded her of road rash. Her eyes wide with concern, she wondered how he could even breathe comfortably with the damage she saw and suspected worse injuries internally than he had admitted. She rose up on a knee to lean behind him to inspect his back. There was more bruising and another long gauze strip covering along his side to his back. On the far side of his neck, there was a slice of scabbed blood and a V shaped cut behind his ear with dark bruises that disappeared from the line of his neck to his shoulder and into his hair.

"You fuckin' happy now?" he snapped.

"What happened?" she asked, her face twisted in sympathy and worry.

"It's classified," he said, gruffly.

Allison sat back and let him cover himself again. She had little doubt that there was more than he let her see. She swallowed hard in the brief silence that followed. He was with Delta. The Captain wasn't with them, but they never would have let something like that happen unless something went horribly wrong. He shouldn't have half of the injuries he did if he had been wearing his body armor. She knew he would never not wear the gear. This shouldn't have been able to happen.

"Who- What happened?" she asked again, softly.

"Jesus fucki-" He cut off his own tirade, taking a breath and wiping his hand over his mouth. He held up an impatient finger. "Addy, I can't tell you what happened, so- So don't ask me again," he said, firmly, trying to control his tone. "You don't get to know everything, alright? Some things are above your pay grade. You got me?"

Allison nodded with a hushed, "Yeah."

Brock's eyes ran up and down her, his expression softening slightly as his gaze came back to hers. "Sweetheart, I'm sorry," he said, quietly, with a hint of regret. "I know you mean-" He stopped with a small sigh. "Addy, there's some things you don't wanna hear, things you're better off not knowing."

She didn't know how to take what he was saying. There was something more, but she didn't know what and he wasn't going to tell her. He put his hand over hers, curling his finger under her palm and holding tight. She put her other hand soothingly over his as a sign of resignation and she noted the skinned knuckles on his left hand. Whatever it was, it was a hell of a fight and she wondered, with the injuries she could see, how close he had come to not making it out.

"Addy, I need you to promise to do something for me," he told her, his eyes fixed on their hands together for a moment. "If something happens, I don't know what, but you'll know when it does." Brock looked up at her again, his expression as earnest as his words. "If it all goes sideways, you come here, okay? No matter what it is or where you are, you come here and you wait for me to come get you. Alright? You don't talk to anyone, you don't stop for anything. You just come here an' you wait for me. D'you understand?...Promise you'll do that, baby."

She didn't understand. The request did nothing to alleviate her concern for him, but she nodded dutifully anyway.

"Say it," he begged gently, his eyes sweeping back and forth between hers with a mix of urgency and adoration in them she hadn't seen before. "I need to hear you say it."

"If something goes wrong, I come here and wait for you to come get me," she repeated.

Rumlow nodded, a weak smile coming to his face. "That's my girl," he said, softly, reaching up to cup his hand to her face.

April 2014

The elevator doors slid open and Allison slid over a hard-shell rifle case toward the wall using the side of her boot. She moved aside from the near center of the elevator car with a smile and a nod to greet Capt. Rogers as he entered. She glanced down with him as he observed the duffle bag and rifle case at her feet. He spoke his destination to the elevator and nodded at the gear.

"Lt. Addams," he smiled.

"Cap," she replied, reciprocating his kind smile.

"You headed out on an assignment?" he asked.

Allison shook her head. "No. Going to the range. We're considering some changes to our primary issued weapons." She tapped the toe of her boot on the duffel bag. "Taking some of the bids to the Virginia range for trial. Need a little more length than the indoor lanes can provide here. Finally got a hold of a new sniper rifle that went to manufacture in February. Gonna put her through her paces and see if we don't add it to the armory."

"Sounds fun," Rogers smirked.

"A paid day at the range with free ammo is a good one," Allison noted. "Care to come along? We're gonna be sending about 3 to 4,000 rounds down range on several different weapons. Got any steam to blow off?"

"Tempting," he mused, his brow wagging up in interest. "Maybe some other time, though. I've got someone to see today."

"Going to see Agent Carter?" she asked, with a knowing smile. Allison thought she saw a faint blush come and go from the Captain's cheeks when he nodded. "How is she?" she went on, cautiously curious, but by no means pressing for an answer.

Rogers gave a small nod, as he considered his answer. "Some days are better than others," he said.

"I admire her a great deal," Allison told him, looking ahead as the elvator lowered to the garage level. "I doubt she'd remember me," Allison added, thinking fondly for a moment of the photograph in her small office of the day she met Agent Carter, when the official commission ceremony was held for Allison and the other new STRIKE members in 2010, "or I'd tell you to say 'hello' for me."

"You're a pretty notable woman around here, in your own right. I'm sure she does. I'll let her know. Can I give you a hand with that?" he offered, as Allison stooped to shoulder her bag and pick up her case. She tried to decline when he insisted, "There's no way I can get away with letting you carry all of that when we're heading the same way. Wouldn't be gentlemanly."

Allison couldn't help a small chuckle, as the Captain reached for the heavy bag off her shoulder and hooked it over his own. "Gentlemanly, huh?" she mused. "Not exactly a common trait among the big, dumb animals I run with around here."

"Can't be that bad, can it?" he asked, following Allison's lead as she pointed the direction to go in the garage. "Although, I guess your guys might be a little more viscoius by necessity than mine."

Allison shrugged. "I got a soft spot for a few of 'em," she conceded, with a wink and a smile.

"Still can't figure out how you haven't gotten as jaded and cocky as the rest of your team though," he said, with a smirk.

"Cocky? Yes. Jaded? Not yet," she quipped, flashing a wicked smile.

"Nah," he disagreed, with a laugh as they came to Allison's SUV. "It's confidence with you. You've earned it."

"We aim to please," Allison chuckled, laying the rifle case into the cargo area of her vehicle.

"Sniper humor," Rogers sarcastically pointed out. "Shoulda seen that coming, huh?"

Allison shrugged. "You don't have to," she reassured him. "That's what overwatch is for."

"Hey," Rogers said, setting her bag in the car for her, "when are we gonna get together for another poker night? It's been a few weeks."

"Man, it has hasn't it," she realized, closing the hatch to the SUV. "I come off rotation on Thursday. As long as there's no global crisis, wanna say Saturday? I'll let the guys know?"

The Captain smiled. "Sounds good," he nodded, stepping away as Allison moved toward the driver's door. Rogers pointed at her with a stern look. "Don't show up in anything that shows off your cleavage again. That's not fair for the rest of us."

"Hey," she pointed back, "just 'cause you guys can't handle a little diversionary tactics or don't know how to manipulate your own assets for a tactical advantage, doesn't mean that I have to get boxed in. Besides, I didn't even win that night."

Rogers waved a dismissive hand in goodbye. "Have fun slinging lead," he called over his shoulder. "See ya Saturday."

"Yes, sir!"

May 2014

"All STRIKE units, Code Orange."

Allison dropped her boots off the corner of the briefing room table to the floor, sitting upright in her seat. Her eyes met Mickelson's as the alert came in stereo from their comms and through the overhead speakers in the building. She was on her feet and running for the door, grabbing her rifle off the table and looping the sling overhead. The rest of Fire Team Bravo fell into stride behind her.

"All STRIKE units, Code Orange. Hostile in the building."

Rushing down the hallway for the elevator, Ops Control dispatched through the comms. "Delta 2- Delta 2, respond to the 25th floor. Subject is in elevator 3. Echo 1 Alpha- Echo 1 Alpha, secure flight deck access. Echo 1 Bravo- Echo 1 Bravo, secure garage egress. Delta 2 leader, copy Control and switch to Comms secure 5."

As the doors to the elevator were closing on her and the rest of her fire team, Allison acknowledged her orders when the controller called for Echo 1 Bravo leader. The elevator began its decent and Fire Team Bravo checked their weapons and dropped the safeties. When all team leaders had responded, the operator came back on the channel.

"Hostile is male-white, 6'4, 240. Hostile is armed and dangerous. Contain and capture. All teams cleared weapons hot."

"Contain and capture," Mickelson snorted. "Weapons hot. Make up your mind."

"It's nice to have options," Allison smirked, watching the display count down the floors to the garage. "Mick, Hughes, and Phillips, with me. We'll sweep levels 1 and 2." The elevator opened to level 2 of the garage. "The rest of you, two four-man teams. One clears levels 3 and 4, standby on 3. The other posts at the exit. _No one_ gets out," she ordered, before stepping out with her selected agents.

Allison motioned for Hughes and Mickelson to separate and search one half of the floor while she and Phillips checked the other. Clearing level 2, they moved to the next floor. The comms came to life again, updating the STRIKE teams to their targets movements.

"Echo 1- Echo 1, fire teams advised hostile has broken containment and is in the lobby. Delta 2 is in pursuit. Echo 1, secure your positions."

"How the fuck'd this guy get to the lobby from 25 so fast?" Phillips asked, as Fire Team Alpha announced the flight deck was secured.

Allison shrugged. "Echo 1 Bravo copies. Garage secure. Bravo standing by," she told the controller.

Below them, the distant echo of gunfire reverberated around the concrete structure and rose through the garage. Allison and Phillips shared another look, as a broken communication from the team on level 3 of the garage announced they had engaged the intruder. She called for Mickelson and Hughes to standby on their side of the floor near the ramp to the exit.

"Echo Bravo 1-5, contact, garage level thr-"

The traffic stopped mid-sentence and the operator called for the transmission to be repeated. When there was no answer, Allison and Phillips took up their weapons. A moment later, the gunfire had stopped and the garage was quiet again. The agents scanned their section of the parking area, snapping their attention to their right at the almost imperceptible sound of the latching of the metal stairwell door. Allison held up her fist, telling Phillips to hold his position. He nodded once, looking down his sights as he panned across the floor slowly and Allison moved off carefully toward the stairwell.

Silently walking heel to toe and checking the world around her as she moved, there was no noise in the garage. In her ear, Ops Control called for an update and Allison whispered her reply of, "Bravo 1-1, possible activity garage level 1. Standby."

Allison swung around. Behind her, she heard sounds of a scuffle and then a burst of gunshots. She darted back to Phillips' position, calling into the comms that they had contact with the hostile in the Northwest corner of level 1. She rounded a wide concrete pillar and, seeing Phillips rifle skid across the pavement in front of her, she stopped short. Bringing her weapon back up, Allison flinched and juked back and to the left as something crashed into the pillar beside her. She dropped behind the column, blinking the dust out of her eyes that exploded into the air from whatever impacted the concrete. A second later, Allison turned the edge of the pillar to locate Phillips and engage the target. At the same moment, a hand grabbed the sling of her rifle and jerked her forward, the force upsetting her balance as she stumbled a step forward before being thrown back into the pillar. The hit knocked the air out of her in a violent cough and she realized her weapon had been pulled off of her. Allison choked in a breath as she grabbed for the pistol on her thigh.

Her vision focused again, just in time to see the fist coming for her face as she drew her gun. Allison ducked to the right, stepping out and trying to gain some distance from her target. There was another cloud of dust that followed the missed punch into the pillar and Allison's eyes leveled with confusion. She raised her pistol on her target; the white star of Capt. Rogers' uniform.

"Jesus fu- Steve?" she fumbled, still trying to find her breath.

Rogers stopped, eyeing her suspiciously and slowly moving his shield on his arm to coil at his right side. Their standoff lasted only a moment before he told her, "Get out of my way."

"You're the hostile?" she questioned.

If he was going to answer her, he didn't have a chance. Rogers drew back, sending his shield flying. Allison dove out of its path, rolling over her shoulder to the relative cover between two parked cars. She heard the shield ricochet as she scrambled back to her feet. Peering over the trunk of one of the cars, she saw Mickelson fall as the Captain's shield collided with his chest. Allison didn't know what was happening, but she understood Rogers had attacked her and her team. She sprang forward as the Captain advanced toward her downed team mates, landing a kick into his hip and sending him staggering for his balance.

Rogers swung wildly on her, lashing out to strike or grab anything he could. Allison parried and threw a cross into his jaw. He caught her arm on her next strike, trapping her in close and dazing her with a butt of his head to hers as his other hand blocked her retaliating punch. Disoriented, Allison was pushed to the ground and sent tumbling with a kick to the gut. She doubled over, coughing for air as she saw Hughes begin to recover and rise to one knee and take aim at Rogers. Rogers was on him before he could pull the trigger, sending a flurry of blows across Hughes' face and body until he collapsed again. The Captain picked up his shield, turning for the ramp as Allison found her handgun on the ground. She took aim, firing on Rogers as he came back toward her, knowing she was no match for the super soldier in hand to hand combat. Her shots were deflected by the shield as Rogers advanced.

Her magazine spent, Allison reached to reload. Rogers swung his shield, teeth grit and eyes blazing with anger, as he knocked the weapon out of Allison's hand. He lunged, grabbing ahold of her by a fistful of her uniform at the shoulder. Allison threw an elbow back into his jaw. In the next instant, Rogers had her wrapped up in a choke from behind. Her counter moves were ineffective and she felt his arm tighten around her neck. She struggled to break free, feeling the heat come to her skin and eyes and she hissed for breath and dropped blows into the Captain's gut. Seconds later, her vision blacked. 


	27. Chapter 27

Aug 2012

"Congratulations."

Swallowing her drink, Allison looked up curiously from her seat at the cafeteria table. "For what?" she asked, motioning for Rogers to join her.

The Captain set down his tray and pulled out a chair, explaining as he lowered himself with a smile, "For your promotion. I heard you took Greenly's spot with the Horsemen. I know I'm a bit late, but I haven't seen you around."

"Ahh," she realized and humbly shrugged. "Thank you. Yeah, I guess they do keep us busy."

"That's some accomplishment," he nodded, arranging his meal and utensils as he spoke. "I didn't realize you'd put yourself in that kind of position."

"How do you mean?" Allison asked, loading a bite of pasta salad onto her fork.

Rogers snorted, a bit sheepish. "I guess that does sound kinda bad the way I said that," he mused. "What I meant was, I guess, I didn't realize how much you accomplished since you joined STRIKE."

Allison smiled and winked. "The second way sounds better."

"I'm sure it does," he agreed, with a laugh.

"I guess there's really not a civilized way of discussing a promotion like that," she shrugged.

Rogers drew in a breath, with a contemplative nod. "It's hard to make it sound good when you're outside the business," he said. "It's hard to explain it to someone who hasn't been in those situations. To have a stomach for the work, to make the sacrifices and take the shots."

"If my friends could see me now..." Allison quipped and Rogers laughed.

"Good thing you've got plenty of sympathetic friends here," he noted, tipping his cup to her before taking a drink.

Allison chuckled with a wide smile and sweep of her head. "Lord, if anybody knew how we make a living..."

"It would be a bit alarming," the Captain agreed. "Most folks aren't ready to accept how evil the world can be."

"Well, the world sleeps better at night knowing Captain America is on watch, though," she assured him.

"The world sleeps better at night because of the things _we_ do," he corrected, with a knowing rise in his brow.

"To be fair," Allison began, "it's you. No one will ever know my name. Hell, SHIELD doesn't even publicly acknowledge Echo Team. I'm a nobody."

"It adds to the mystery," he winked and Allison laughed into her drink.

"It makes job hunting impossible," she said. Allison held up her hand, as if she were holding something to read. "I see here, Ms. Addams," she stuffily joked, "that you spent the last three years as a counterterrorism spy and assassin for a clandestine team the US government says doesn't exist." She chuckled. "Yeah, that sounds about right."

Rogers laughed out loud, dropping and shaking his head. When his amusement subsided, he asked, "You're not thinking about getting out, are you?"

"No," she firmly shook her head. Allison smiled fondly.  "No, the only way I'm leaving this place is in a box." 

"Well, let's hope for a happy retirement over a pine box," the Captain countered. He shrugged, tipping his head in thought. "That is, if you could ever actually make yourself retire."

"They'll have to drag my geriatric ass out the door, kicking and screaming" she promised. "SHIELD, my team, all of you guys. I'd never leave any of this."

"And I don't want you to," he agreed. "The world needs more good people like you standing up for it, Al."

"See," Allison squinted and shook her head, wagging a finger at him, "now you're just being a smart ass. Coming in here, congratulating me on _that_ kind of promotion, and thinking that I can still be a 'good person'."

Rogers snorted and shook his head. "You are a good person, Ally," he assured her. "Sometimes we have to do bad things, but it's for the right reasons. That doesn't make us bad people."

Allison sighed, with a grin. "That's why I like you, Cap. Always my glass half-full."

"I've always got your back and I know you've got mine" he told her. "Ease up and give yourself a break, once in a while. You've earned it. That is, if you ever took a vacation."

"Where am I gonna go that I haven't already been to on an all expense paid trip by SHIELD?" she jokingly wondered.

"The world's a different place, Al," he promised, "when you're not seeing it through a rifle scope."

"And when, pray tell, was the last time _you_ took a vacation and saw it without that shield?" Allison begged.

Rogers sighed out a small laugh. "I see your point," he conceded.

"We're two of a kind, Cap," Allison mused. "Guys like you and me wouldn't know what to do if the world ever stopped fighting itself. None of us would. Fightin's what we do. It's in the blood."

The Captain raised his cup to toast, "To the fight, our blood, and the chance to see a forced retirement."

"To which ever end they give us," she seconded.

May 2014

Allison found Brock in his office, hurriedly adjusting the tension on his shoulder rig. She shut the door behind her, crossing straight to stand in front of his desk as he pulled on a black jacket to hide his weapons. His eyes watched her come over while he tucked a comms device into his ear.

"What d'ya want, Addy?" he asked, picking up a radio to check its setting. "I only have a minute."

She held up her phone to show him the screen. "What the hell is going on?"

A message was blasted to all STRIKE operators. Attached was Capt. Rogers ID photo and biographical information. The face of the message was a copy of orders from Secretary Pierce to take Rogers into custody by any means necessary.

Brock paused, glancing at the screen and then up to Allison before he hooked the radio on his belt. "Orders," he said.

"I know what they are," she said dryly. "What the fuck am I supposed to do with this? Run out the fire team doing knock and talks up 'n down the streets of DC? He can't be serious."

Rumlow checked his watch. "Stay out of this, Addy," he told her. "Let me take care of it."

"Stay out of what?" she asked, the tone of her voice dropping with the rise of her temper at her questions not being answered. "Cap takes a swan dive into the lobby, beats the shit outta me and my team, and brings down a jet on the bridge. And now this? I want to know what's going on."

He moved around his desk, stopping on his way to the door to put a hand behind Allison's neck to pull her close enough to kiss her cheek quickly. Pulling back, he stopped. Brock cupped a hand to her cheek, carefully thumbing down the lower lid of her right eye as his eyes studied hers critically. A worried furrow came to his brow at seeing the petechia coloring thin streaks across the whites of her eyes.

"Jesus fuck-" Rumlow muttered quietly, before he let her go. "The fuck did he do to you?"

"The son of a bitch choked me out," Allison spat.

"Christ, I didn't know it was your team down there," he said, giving her another once over. "Did you get checked out?"

"Yeah," she frowned, uninterested in talking about herself when she needed to know what was happening with Rogers. "I just left. I'll be fine."

Brock nodded to himself and started for the door, Allison following close behind. She needed an explanation. Everything in her gut said this was wrong.

"Brock, please," Allison began, falling into step behind him, "tell me what's going on."

"I'm taking care of this," he insisted. "Delta will find Rogers. I want you in the TOC keepin' an eye on me. I wanna know where you are at all times." Rumlow stopped at the door, his hand hovering over the handle before he turned around to look at her. "Don't- Do _not_ take your team out on any assignment that doesn't come directly from me," he instructed. "You're on alert. I want you and your team combat ready, but _only_ on my orders. You got that?"

Allison nodded. "You gonna tell me what's going on?"

"I can't," he shook his head.

Nov 2013

Crowded elbow to elbow around a table in the back of the bar, Allison's Fire Team Bravo, Echo Team, First Squad knocked back beers like water. The speakers pumped classic rock into the air over the din of war stories and emasculating name calling, all part of the ritual of bonding over cheating death and fighting on. Absolved of any culpability in the death of Dr. Ericsson , Allison joined her teammates in a small celebration of her return to active duty. A respectable distance away from Allison, across the table sat Rumlow. It was one of the rare occasions for them to interact with their coworkers like this at the same time, but, although she wouldn't receive any affections more than the tough love and shit talking he gave all the members of STRIKE, Allison was glad to have his support in public tonight.

"Hey! There he is," Rumlow called, gesturing into the room ahead of his view with his beer bottle in hand. "Make a hole, people. Make a hole."

Allison turned over her shoulder to see Capt. Rogers smiling as he crossed the room to join them. She smiled her hello to him, always amused to see him in civilian clothes and mixing with the general population. A spot opened up a couple of spaces down from Allison and a chair was dragged over for Rogers to join them. On his way to his seat, the Captain stopped to give Allison's shoulder a squeeze and a pat, as he told her, "Good to have you back where you belong, Ally."

"Thanks, Cap," she smiled, patting a hand over his.

"What's your poison tonight, Cap?" Rumlow asked, holding up a hand to wave a waitress over. "You got some catching up to do."

Rogers chuckled and his head bobbed once, settling back into his chair. "You know it doesn't make a damn bit of difference anyway."

"What I wouldn't trade for some 'a that luck," Brock mused, as the waitress arrived. "Get us some more Buds, all around, and a pair of Jameson's for the Captain here. An' put this round on his tab."

The table broke into laughter and approving votes for Brock's order, as Rogers shook his head with a playful smile. "It's like that, huh?"

"The price you pay for not showin' up on time," Rumlow explained. He nodded across the table toward Allison. "Besides, it's for a good cause."

"Here here," Allison agreed, lifting her bottle of beer.

The others seconded her toast with a hoist of their own drinks and the Captain fondly smiled over at her. "I won't complain because it's for Al," he said. "Any of you other bums and you'd be on your own."

The team groaned and Hughes gave Allison a shove in the arm as she drank.


	28. Chapter 28

July 2015

"I've never heard you speak Russian before," Allison noted to Brock, after they passed the last soldier in the hall and the long corridor ahead of them was clear.

"I haven't needed to for a long time," he said, evenly and sounding a little regretful.

She turned the next corner at the direction of his silent finger point. "The words you spoke," she began, "what were they?"

Brock let out a heavy exhale through his nose, as if he were debating the answer. After a few moments of silent walking, he answered. "It's a command code," Rumlow explained. "The Russians embedded a series of words while the Asset was a part of their program. Given in the proper sequence, they trigger a blind obedience to the handler. It's how they controlled him on missions. Until the objective is complete and the Asset is returned to base, the code continues to override independent thought, till he's either placed back into cryo or wiped. Unlike the failsafe, he'll be awake to feel it, but it'll keep him compliant while the docs undo the damage you did."

Rumlow gestured for Allison to stop, pointing at a door to say they had arrived wherever she was following him to. He leaned across the front of her to open the door and went inside. Allison followed, stepping in slowly and scanning the room. Rumlow had an office at the base. Or if it wasn't his, he rated one when he was on post. The room was as sterile as the one at SHIELD had been; no personal effects, no sentimental additions. Allison positioned herself in the open floor of the middle of the office. Brock stood off the back corner of his desk, striping off his gun belt and body armor, dropping it in his chair. Everything was quiet again and she had time to take him in, seeing the pale scars down his left arm, the faint remnants of burns along the side of his neck and near his left eye and temple.

"Been a long time since you woke me up in the middle of the night, sweetheart," he snorted softly. Allison fought herself to not respond to the affectionate humor, choosing instead to remain quiet and still. "What the fuck are you doin' here, Addy?" he carefully asked, as if he might not really want the answer.

"I could ask you the same question," she said, flatly.

Brock suppressed a laugh, folding his arms over his chest, his head dropping in a small shake, as a warm smile tugged back the side of his mouth. "You haven't changed," he noted, his gaze shifting up again. "Middle of the room, plenty of space to move, good reactionary gap. Eyes sharp, tongue sharper. You still got it, kid."

"I had a good teacher," she told him, unaffected.

"You really gonna stay that far away from _me_?" he smirked.

"It's safe," she explained.

He nodded, taking a moment as his half-smile faded. "How'd you get here?" he asked, dropping his arms, the fingertips of his right hand shifting aside a piece of paperwork on his desk before he looked back up to her. "And the bigger question, how'd you get my asset, Addy?"

Allison thought before her answer. "Saw this place on a map," she said. "I've been looking for you. I was on my way to recon for an approach when I heard the alarm. We ran into each other. I figured he'd be a good way to get in the door. We scuffled and you showed up. And it's not Addy anymore. It's Kate."

"Kate?" he questioned, brow pulling down as he thought. "Bellamy, wasn't it?" Allison nodded and he nodded his understanding. 

"Hard to get things done when people think you're dead," she told him.

"Do what you gotta do," he agreed, "but you're still Addy to me." Brock looked her over before he got back to business. "How'd you know about the fail safe?" he went on, raising a leg to sit on the corner of his desk, his hands folded and hanging loosely in front of him. He had disarmed himself and wasn't treating her like a threat.

"I found the files," she admitted. "The ones in the safe."

"At my place," he surmised. "In the office."

"Yeah," she nodded. "You said- You told me, if something went wrong, I was supposed to go to your place and wait for you to come get me."

His lips ticked back in a quick frown and his posture fell a fraction. "I did," he agreed, quietly.

"But you weren't there," Allison reminded him, a fact she found herself having trouble saying out loud. "You didn't come."

"No," he conceded. "I couldn't."

She nodded, tight and quick. There was a long pause between them. Allison's jaw worked forward, her lips feeling tight over her teeth as her anger festered the more she looked at him. It didn't matter, the regret that she read in his face. He had lied to her.

Rumlow spoke up, rising back to his feet with a sigh. "By the time I could come," he said, "you wouldn't have been there anymore. I'm sorry I didn't live up to my end of the bargain." He folded his arms again, stepping his feet shoulder width apart and bowing his head for a moment, balancing his weight as if it made speaking easier. "I thought you walked away. I wasn't going to look for you. I was gonna let you go. I thought you’d move on and be happy. I didn’t want it to be like this. I never wanted you to know. ...I didn’t want to hurt you."

Allison shook her head, feeling a soft heat rising up her neck to her face. "We lied for a living," she told him. "Everyday, it was a way to survive this job- to get intel, to complete the mission and get home alive, to win." Her eyes went up and down him once. "But I never thought you lied to _me_. Was anything true? ...Any of it? Ever?"

"You and me. That was true," Brock nodded. His head dropped for a moment, before he looked her in the eye again. "When I met you, when I really found out who you were, that was it." He seemed to smile fondly at the memory. "You were strong, smart, beautiful, so sure of everything, so good and honest. ...I wanted to be that for you. To be good for you and love you and try to be something else- someone better. For you. ...You changed everything. You changed my _life_ , Addy."

She swallowed hard, trying her best not to let him get to her, trying to remember how it hurt to be betrayed and alone. Allison could feel the burn coming to her eyes and her jaw worked in frustration. Her fist clenched at her side as he went on.

"I didn’t know what home could be till I met you," he told her, his voice earnest and low. "I never woulda thought that’d I’d get what I got with you; that I'd want it so bad. Everything I did, I did for you- to keep you safe from all of this."

"Why?" she finally asked. "Why them and not me?"

"It was only ever you," he promised, looking wounded by her question. "Before you, I don't even remember why. The money, prestige, the power. I don't know." He shook his head, at a loss. "You’re the only thing that’s mattered for a long time now."

His hands fell to his sides again, resigned. He moved toward her, stopping when her frame hardened and her shoulder edged back to defend herself. Rumlow balled up his fists and nodded his understanding that he wasn't allowed any closer.

"This was never my agenda," Brock told her. "I’m good at what I do and that’s what I did. You think I knew who I was doing this for when I signed up? That I walked in knowing the end game?" His eyes tried to read her, but all she gave him was anger and hurt and he tried to explain more. "I was here for years and didn’t even know it. Stacking bodies, climbing a ladder I didn’t know existed till one day they came to me and I found out."

"Why didn’t you do something? Get out?" she asked.

"At first, it didn't matter. SHIELD or HYDRA. They were both the same thing. But then you-" He stopped, with a slight cock of his head. "Don’t you think I thought about it?" he questioned, his face pinching as if she'd insulted him. "That I didn't try to find a way out when I found you? There isn’t one. You can never get out. They own you."

"You can now," Allison offered. "You can walk away from it all, while they’re falling apart."

"Jesus Christ," he complained, his chest falling as the air left him. "Don’t you see? I can’t. This is how it is. There’s no riding off into the sunset. There’s nothing for me out there. HYDRA? SHIELD? Makes no fuckin’ difference."

"It does," she promised. She gave up her tactical advantage, taking a step forward. "Come with me."

His head rose and his face blanked, as if he were surprised by the invitation. Rumlow blinked, taking her in and taking a breath. "Addy, I tried," he finally said, quiet and broken down. "I wanted to and I tried. For you. For us, baby." He took a small, measured step forward. "I had enough, saw where this was going. Something had to be done before Insight launched. I started making plans, I had people I could trust and we were gonna pull it apart from the inside. But they found out." He paused, shaking his head for a moment before he continued. "They took us all and broke us down...You've seen me beat, seen what they do. What they did to me was nothing compared to what I saw them do." 

Allison swallowed hard, thinking about the time he came home with strangulation marks at his throat and a bruised body, when he had insisted she needed to know he loved her. About the time she found the broken bones and stitches and he made her repeat his instructions to wait for him if something went wrong. 

"The ones they didn’t convert back in," he solemnly explained, "they killed- families and all, took them off the face of the earth. ...Staying here, doing this? It’s not about the mission or order anymore. It’s about staying alive- keeping both of us alive. I’m in too deep. The only reason I'm alive is obedience. This is it now. This is all there is." He took another step in. "Stay with me, Addy. Let me keep you safe."

Allison withdrew a half step. "I can’t live that life," she told him. "Not for them. Not for HYDRA."

"You already have," he said, matter of factly. "Over half of your missions, the black bags and wetworks- all part of the agenda. Monitored, groomed, and executed to control the outcome for what HYDRA wanted. You just didn’t know it." Rumlow visibly swallowed, before adding, "Even Bangui."

"Ban-" Addy almost choked on the name. "Bangui," she managed. "SHIELD- You sold me out."

"No," Brock said, firmly, almost angrily. "Never."

"You left me," she struggled against her rage. 

"We didn't give you up," he growled, a vein stressing upward in his neck. "I didn't leave you."

" _Eigh_ teen days," Allison spat.

" _I couldn't find you_!" Rumlow bit back. He caught himself, inhaling deeply through his nose, before he went on, taking control of his tone again. "Addy, I couldn't. find. you." He wiped a hand down his face, flicking his eyes up to the ceiling before looking her in the eye again. "It wasn't a favor for the CAR government to remove Motsepe. He stepped out of line and was planning to overthrow HYDRA interests in the region. There was never another organization there, it was all Motsepe. One of the agents he killed, we found out he gave up names on the NOC list before they killed him. We didn't know the one you were traveling on was one of the ones he gave them. The counter sniper system they had deployed found the hotel. They'd been watching the airport for NOCs to show up in manifests. That's how they found you. When you wouldn't even give them your name, they just dangled you in front of us, boasting to Pierce about how they had one of his agents and trying to use you in a prisoner trade that Pierce was never going to do."

Allison's heart was pounding in her chest. "Even Bangui," she repeated quietly, but angrily. She dropped her head. "Yeah. I've been figuring out how I was used." She shook her head. "But that's not me," Allison insisted. "I never would have, if I’d known. I would have tried to stop them."

Brock must have seen he was losing her sympathy. "Addy, please," he begged, softly. "Don’t give up on me."

"I’m not," she said, feeling her resolve breaking, as she saw his expression change, and the burn in her eyes replaced with dampness. "But you can't do this anymore."

"What would you have me do? Huh?" Brock asked. "Turn myself over to SHIELD? They'd have me convicted and executed in a week. Even if that weren't the case and they just locked me up for the rest 'a my life, the things I know, you think HYDRA wouldn't come after me? ...It’s just the cold, hard truth. One way or the other, I’m dead. An' for as fucked up as it is, _here's_ the safest place, with HYDRA."

"Everything we’ve done," she began, her anger swelling again. "Everything about us. It means nothing to you. Walking through fire and hell to find you."

"You’re wrong," he bit back, his own temper seeming to flare at the insinuation, as he took another step. "It does. You mean everything to me, Addy, I swear. I’m doing this for you. Don’t you see? There’s no other way."

"There's always a way," she insisted, her pulse rising, and breathing deepening. "We train to win...You told me we could do it. You said we could walk away."

"It's different now," he shook his head. "The way things were, we probably would've made it. We coulda tried. But we missed it." Brock moved forward again, close enough to touch her. He reached out his hand to her arm. "The only thing I can do is bring you in. ...Stay here with me."

The weight of his hand on her and the warmth from his palm through her sleeve made her head feel light and she inhaled slowly. "I can't stay here," she said, softly. "I can't do what you do. That's not me."

"What have you been doing this whole time?" he gently challenged. "Raiding outposts and listening stations." Allison's eyes widened and he shook his head at her, with a hint of a knowing smile. "You think I didn't see your signature in those lines of code, on those bodies? Nobody knows your work like I do. Nobody knows you like me, Addy."

"Why didn't you come after me then?" she asked, suspicion underlying the question.

"I would never take them to you," he said, firmly. "I knew you weren't in that building when it fell. A couple months went by with nothing. I thought you disappeared, that maybe you started over somewhere. Until I saw your work again in Pennsylvania." Brock searched her eyes for a moment. "Addy, the refueling station... You couldn't have done that on your own."

Allison turned her shoulder, pulling away from his touch, on the defensive. She swallowed hard, taking her breathing down and evening out her pulse again, instinctually preparing for a fight.

"How did you get the Asset, Addy?" he asked. "Tell me the truth this time."

She took a moment to answer, assessing his posture quickly. "He found me," she admitted.

"And he didn't try to kill you?" he questioned. "If he knew you were SHIELD he wou-"

"His programming was broken in DC," she told him. "Something Rogers did. I don't know what."

Rumlow nodded. "Rogers," he mused, quietly, and paused. "He undid the fail safe?"

She looked him in the eye. "I did," she confessed. "I disarmed the trigger."

Brock leveled his gaze, his shoulders squaring. "You?" he doubted, the question heavy with disappointment and confusion. "How? Why?"

Allison shook her head. She wouldn't tell him how. "I needed his help to find you," she said. "I couldn't have someone take him out before I did that."

Rumlow shifted his weight and wiped a hand down his mouth, rubbing his palm along his chin. "Jesus Christ, Addy," he muttered. "What were you gonna do with him after you found me? Kill him? Turn him loose like a dog? He's been out there, for almost a year, killing everyone in his path. Everyone of his handlers is dead now but me. You think he wouldn't do the same to you? And you took away the one thing that could stop him. It'll take 'em weeks to reprogram him."

The thought turned her stomach. "They can't."

"They will," he assured her. "They've got too much invested in him. ...You never shoulda come here, Addy. And you sure as hell shouldn'a brought him."

"They can't," she repeated, her anger renewed as her hand slipped to her side.

Brock was there in an instant, his arm locked down, hand over hers, trapping her gun in its holster. "Addy," he warned, gently. "Don't do anything stupid. There's nothing you can do about this. They've been looking for him since DC."

"He doesn't deserve that," she insisted. "He's a human being. He deserves his freedom. He's a good man. Even tonight, he saved my life."

"Yeah," Rumlow nodded. "He's saved my ass a time or two. And, believe me, I'm glad he did whatever he did for you." His eyes looked over Allison's face for a moment. "But, Addy, I can't do anything to repay that anymore and neither can you."

"How could you be a part of that?" she shook her head. "How could you do that to him? For years."

Rumlow gave a small snort in derision. "Addy, you don't know what I did with that program," he told her. "I oversaw his missions. Yeah, I was his handler and had order to maintain, but nobody respected or looked out for that man like I did. You don't think after 11 years of training with him, studying all his files, running ops with him, that I couldn't hunt him down? _You_ brought him back, Addy. They're gonna start all over again. It isn't fair or right, but there's nothing to do about it."

She considered for a moment what he said, pairing it with what Barnes had told her about his memories of Rumlow. Maybe there was some truth to the way Brock said he treated him. Barnes had said there had been arguments with the doctors and techs. He had said Rumlow was always around, watching procedures and overseeing things like no other handler had done. Maybe he had been less cruel or even slightly sympathetic, but it didn't change that Allison refused to let HYDRA reprogram and use Barnes again.

"I can't let you do that to him again," she told him, the hurt and betrayal showing. "No more innocent people."

"It's not me," Brock said. "It's outta my hands." His left hand still holding her down, his free hand cradled the side of her neck, thumb brushing near her spilt lip with worry for a moment before he looked her in the eye. "You have to stop. Please."

Her heart gave out, having him so close again and the familiar touch on her skin. She turned her face down against his palm, her hand loosening its grip on her weapon. Allison's free hand rose to cover his at her cheek and Rumlow let his hold over her hand go, wrapping his arm around her and his hand pushing back into her damp hair, as she leaned into his shoulder. Her arms folded around him, holding on as if he were the only thing keeping her afloat.

"I'm not gonna hurt you, Addy," he promised, a whisper to her ear before he pressed a long kiss to the side of her head.

From a shaky breath on his shoulder, she told him, "You already did."

She felt Rumlow's shoulders fall and his arms tighten around her. "I'm sorry," he said, softly. "Baby, I'm so sorry." His face turned down into her neck, a move that felt like a plea for mercy to her. "Everything I did, I did to protect you. I never wanted to hurt you," he spoke against her skin.

Allison stayed there for a few long minutes, the shelter of his arms simultaneously healing and breaking her heart, as the tears finally gave way, hot and silent. "I understand," she admitted, and it was true.

"It's late," he reminded her, turning so his forehead rested against hers. "You need to rest. We'll get you some dry clothes. I'm fresh outta SHIELD uniforms though," Brock quipped and trailed off, kissing her temple, before taking a small step back to open the space between them again. "You're safe here, Addy. I'll keep an eye on you. Just stay away from Rollins, until I can get him back in line."

"Okay," she consented, becoming aware of how exhausting the night had become.

Rumlow asked how she got to the base and she told him about the latest stolen car stashed off the highway with her weapons and gear. Brock picked up the phone on his desk and called for a team to secure her equipment and dump the car. After the orders were given, he had Allison follow him though the hallways again. Riding an elevator two floors up, he showed her to an empty bunk in a private room.

"This'll do for now," he told her, snapping on the light switch by the door. "I'll have Supply deliver you some clothes and towels in a little bit." He looked her over. "You sure you don't want the docs to check you out?"

"I'm okay, really," she promised.

Brock checked his watch, telling her, "It's almost 3. Get some sleep. Don't come out of this room, till I come to get you. You got it?"

"Yeah," Allison nodded. There was an awkward pause before he told her goodnight and turned to go. She stopped him, saying, "The tablet." Rumlow turned back to face her. "I read it. I saw my files, saw the credentials." He nodded, apparently patiently waiting to see where she was going with this. "But there were things I couldn't open, not even in Ithaca."

Rumlow nodded again and was quiet for a moment as he thought. "You've done enough for one night. Go to sleep, Addy," he told her. "We'll talk in the morning."


	29. Chapter 29

July 2015

Allison opened the door wide enough to see whoever was on the other side. She stepped back, swinging the door open with a push of her hand for Brock to enter. Watching the hallway behind him as he came in, she slipped the gun in her hand, that she'd held hidden her leg, back into its holster. Rumlow noticed, eyeing the move as he shut the door behind him, holding out a lidded paper cup of coffee to her.

"Did you sleep?" he asked.

Allison gave him a small nod, tabbing open the lid of her drink. "Some."

"Good," Brock smiled. Allison noticed the black bag over his shoulder, taking it when he held it out and told her, "We got your gear back."

Unzipping the top of the bag, Allison looked inside. "Did you go through it?"

"I did," he nodded, folding his arms across his chest, as he watched her double check everything was still in the backpack. "Went through everything they brought in. I almost took my sweatshirt back," he smirked. "Can't believe you still got that thing."

"Yeah, well," Allison said, quietly, with a small shrug as she went to the bed to put the bag down next to her clothes from the night before. "Everybody's got their favorite, I guess."

"You still wanna keep it?" Brock wondered.

A small, wistful grin tugged back one side of her mouth for a moment, when she looked to him from the backpack on the bed. "I'm thinking about it."

"Fair enough," he conceded. It was quiet for a moment, before Brock inhaled deeply and asked, "What's your next move?"

Allison studied him, debating her answer. "I can't stay here," she finally told him.

"Addy, if you try something, they won't let you leave," he warned. It wasn't a threat, it was a reminder. "If you stay, I can protect you, like I always have."

She shook her head. "No. You don't have to do that anymore."

"I'm gonna ask you one more time not to do this," Brock said, unfolding his arms and pocketing his hands, looking more resigned than she could remember ever seeing.

"What am I supposed to do?" she asked. "Leave him here to be tortured and turned into a mindless weapon again?"

A small sigh left him. "You couldn't," he nodded. "I know, but Addy-" Rumlow stopped. His head dropped with a small shake. He looked up, wiping a hand down over his mouth before starting again. "I've done everything I can to set you up. You can stay and be safe, with me, like it used to be. And when the time's right, we can get out. You and me, baby," he said, a small and hopeful smile flinching into his lips for a moment. "But Addy, if you try to leave now and do what I think you're going to do, it won't be enough. I can't protect you anymore. ...Addy, you know I'm not gonna hurt you, but there's 183 soldiers on this base and they're not gonna let you have him."

Allison nodded. "I don't expect them to."

"Fuckin' hell," he breathed, shaking his downturned head again. Brock took his right hand out of his pocket and opened it to show her a thumb drive in his palm. "I don't know how you did it, but it was a good set up," he told her, turning the device over in his hand as he spoke. "Found this in his pocket. Found the gun you took off one of the agents you put down in the hallway, too. It makes it look like your story's true." Rumlow tossed her the drive. "It's enough to make Rollins shut his fuckin' trap for a little while, anyway."

"You're giving this back?" she questioned, holding up the memory stick. "Why?"

"You earned it," he smirked. "Call it a going away present."

Curling her fingers tightly around the drive, she nodded. "Thank you."

"I got you something else," Brock told her.

"What's that?" she wondered, slipping the thumb drive into her pocket.

"The tablet's been synced," he explained. "Everything on it is current, as of two hours ago. It's all been unlocked." Allison glanced down at her bag on the bed and then back to him. "How's your Russian?" he checked, folding his arms again, seeming to get a little more tense the more he went on.

"Good as ever," Allison said.

"The original Russian files are on there now," Rumlow said, inclining his head toward the tablet in the backpack. "Whatever you did to him with the fail safe, I have a feeling you'll need those to try and dismantle the command code. In the meantime, memorize the code and don't hesitate to use it, if you need to. There's a release phrase in there, for when the mission is complete."

"You said, the sequence makes him respond to the handler," she pointed out. "The only handler left is you."

"Whoever gives the code is his handler," Brock corrected. "Nobody else outside of the program would know that. And seeing as how most of them are dead now..." He shrugged. "It's how we transitioned through staff over the years. There's been two other handlers since me, but that's the reason he responded to me. Say the right words, in the right order, and he'll do it for you." Rumlow snorted quietly. "You might need to use it. When we brought him in, I saw how he fuckin' hates you now."

"Yeah," she sighed. "I'm sure he does. Didn't have time to explain." Allison bit her lip, a little worried. "You think I'm going to be able to get him out of here?" she asked.

Brock gave her a warm smile. "I've seen you do the impossible for years," he told her. "I never doubt you." His smile slipped and Brock folded his arms again. "I won't be able to help you, Addy."

"I'm not asking you to," she nodded. "You've done enough. I appreciate it. I really do."

Rumlow stepped forward, wrapping his arms around her tightly and sighing when her arms did the same to him. "I'm sorry, Addy," he told her, kissing the side of her head. "About all of this. I'm not asking you to forgive me, I just hope you understand why I did what I did."

Allison nodded, her head buried into his shoulder, taking in what she could of him. "I understand."

"Is there anything else you need?" he offered.

"Time," she told him. "I have to get something from out of town."

Brock squeezed her to him. "Whatever you're going to do, you don't have a lot of time," he explained, turning his face down into her neck. "There's already an SUV ready for you at the West gate. Keys are in the ignition. It's clean, no tracker. You're gear's in the back with a burner cell. It's got one number in it." He loosened his hold of her, leaning back to reach a hand between them and turn her chin up to give her a gentle kiss. When it was over, he warned her, "Your window closes in 47 hours. I may be able to buy you a couple more hours, but don't plan on it. After that, he'll be relocated and, to save your life, I'm not telling you where."

Nodding, Allison took a step backward. "I'm sorry."

Rumlow shook his head, with a faint smile at the side of his mouth. "You've never had to apologize to me," he said. "Don't start now."

She gave him a weak smile. Brock held out a hand to her. She looked down at his offering a moment before taking it. Rumlow pulled her back, his other hand slipping behind her neck to bring her to him. Allison's arms folded tightly behind his neck. He kissed her again, his lips crashing into hers with all the love of the last five years, and it took her breath away. When he let her go, there was nothing either of them could say for the moment their foreheads pressed together and their eyes were closed.

Allison stepped away first, a half stride backward before turning her back. She shouldered her bag and took up the cup of coffee he'd made her, heading out the door.

May 2014

"Bulllshiiit," Rogers declared. He sat up in his seat, folding an arm onto the edge of the table and pointing an accusing finger at Allison. "There's no way that happened like that."

"It's true," Allison laughingly insisted, holding up her hand in promise. "Hand to God." She turned to Brock. "Boss, tell him, I'm not lying."

Rumlow nodded, as he swallowed his drink from his bottle of beer. "It's true."

"It's possible," Natasha conceded, shrugging before a drink.

The Captain shook his head, leaning back into his seat again. "I don't buy it," he argued. "That's, like, a million dollar shot."

Allison held out her open palm to him. "Then pay up, because it happened."

"I could do it," Barton mused. "I bet she could have, given the right circumstances."

"Alright, fine," Rogers conceded, sitting up again. "Tell me _exactly_ how you did it."

"You're gonna regret not believing her," Brock warned, from behind an amused smile.

"McMillan Tac-50," she began, "market shop rooftop three stories up, 1100 meters away." Allison raised a finger with each point she made. "29° out, in the falling snow, crosswind gusting to 18 miles an hour."

"No way," Rogers shook his head. "It's impossible. There's no way you made that shot."

"Ehh," Clint winced, waggling his hand in the air as he began to doubt. "I might have ta go with Cap on this one. It's kinda starting to smell like bullshit."

"One shot," Allison went on, despite the stubborn skepticism at the table. "Past the head of the body guard in front of the podium, through the screen of his teleprompter. The round nails him right between the eyes, drops 5 degrees on the exit from his skull, and catches his second in command, standing behind him, in the throat. That guy bled out in under a minute. Coup cancelled." Allison sat back, dusting her hands and folding her arms smugly. "Even sheered some of the fur on the body guard's hat on the way."

Romanoff cocked up an eyebrow. "That _is_ the story that went around afterward," she pointed out.

"Impossible," Rogers argued.

"There's a copy of the propaganda footage they were filming that night that says otherwise," Rumlow assured him.

"Really?" Barton asked, his curiosity clearly piqued.

"You've seen it?" the Captain asked Rumlow, still doubting.

Brock nodded into another drink of his beer, as the waitress brought another round for the table and Mickelson and Rollins came back from their darts game for fresh drinks. The others took their seats at the table again. Mick asked what they were talking about and Rumlow caught them up to speed, concluding, "The Captain doesn't buy it."

"I was there," Eric chimed in. "I was part of her extraction team. Fuckin' locals went nuts when news got out. Setting off fireworks and shit."

"So, you didn't see it happen either," Rogers pointed out. "Nobody actually _saw_ it happen."

"Didn't need to," Rollins said, throwing back his shot of whiskey. "It's all on tape."

Allison raised her hand. "I saw it happen," she smirked and Natasha laughed.

Jack picked up his next shot glass and tipped it across the table at Allison, with a wink. "Helluva shot, Princess."

"Thanks, Jack," she smiled, raising her own glass to him in reply.

"Remind me when we're back at the office, sometime," Rumlow invited Rogers. "I'll show it to you."

"And I'll only accept your apology in public, on the parade ground, in front of all of STRIKE," she insisted.

"No shit," Barton mused, apparently finally believing her. "I'd like to see that, too, sometime."

"Come by the office," Brock shrugged.

"If you even remember where it is," Romanoff said, under her breath, and the table laughed, except for Barton.

"I know where it is," Clint grumbled, ahead of a long drink of his beer.

"I thought you hung up your Delta tab a long time ago," Allison reminded Clint.

"He did," Brock agreed. "But he'll show up anywhere, if there's free food involved."

"Or booze," Natasha added, holding up her finger for her correction.

"Yeah," Clint smiled. "Thanks, Cap."

"I'm only paying for the birthday girl's," Rogers reminded him.

"Aw, son of a bitch," Barton grimaced. He flashed a grin to Allison, hoisting his beer. "Oh, well. Happy Birthday anyway, Al."

"Happy birthday," the table seconded and the three other tables of STRIKE operators in the back room of Barny's joined in.

July 2015

Allison didn't have an opinion of New York City. People either loved it or hated it. She figured she hadn't spent enough time there to lean one way or the other. There had been a few missions there. A black bag for the Consulate General of Afghanistan, a couple transfers of custody of prisoners for foreign governments, even a pair of escorts of a prisoner and to transfer some cryptography work from Stark Tower for the Avengers to SHIELD.

Sitting in view of the skyscraper, at a cafe table down the block, Allison mulled her options for the best approach. She knew from a quick check of media accounts that Captain Rogers had taken up residence in the tower with the rest of the Avengers team. From her few visits to the tower, she was familiar enough with the building's general security and layout of a few lower floors and a couple of the upper ones used for Stark's tech development and Avengers operations. The trick was knowing who was home.

She shrugged to herself. _Fuck it. Now or never_. She swallowed the last drink of her coffee and dropped her napkin over her plate, figuring at least she had a good meal if this was going to get drawn out. She'd stolen a single engine prop plane from a private field, after leaving Rumlow's base. After landing in a field in New Jersey, Allison stole a truck from a nearby home and drove straight into the city.

Leaving a tip for her waiter, Allison adjusted her sunglasses on the bridge of her nose and stuffed her hands in her jacket pocket. Moving along the busy Manhattan sidewalk, she looked like any other pedestrian in a long, khaki rain coat hoping the summer showers didn't return for the day. No one would suspect the woman casually waiting at the crosswalk with them was wearing a pair of pistols strapped under her arms, a combat knife in her boot, and a back up gun in the small of her back. No one in the lobby of Stark Tower would suspect it either.


	30. Chapter 30

Mar 2014

"Can I get you a drink?"

Allison turned, smiling at seeing Barton behind her. She held up the glass in her hand, as he came around to stand in front of her. "Got one. Thanks."

"This is gonna sound weird, but what are you doing here? Did you know Dave?" he asked, taking a sip off his tumbler of whiskey.

"Not well," she shook her head. "I mean, I know him from working Delta, but I didn't work much with his squad. I know Janine. We started out in Clandestine Services together. She was one of the analysts on my team."

Clint shook his head. "Yeah," he sighed. "Poor Janine. Can you imagine being a widow at her age?" He looked over to the far side of the room and Allison followed his gaze to see Janine getting a hug from Stewart from Delta Team. "She's gotta be, what? Like 34? 35?"

"She turned 35 last month," Allison noted, solemnly.

"Shit," Barton grumbled, taking another drink. "Makes ya think, huh?"

Allison hummed her agreement, adjusting her hold on her glass and turning her eyes down. "It's pretty fucked up."

"At least they didn't have any kids," he said. "Small relief."

"They were trying, though," she told him and Barton's brow rose in curiosity. "Yeah," Allison went on. "We had lunch together a couple weeks ago."

"That's a damned shame," Barton said. "He was a good guy."

"He was," Allison agreed.

"We ran ops together on Delta, back in the day," he told her. "Real solid guy, ya know? Good agent, dependable, smart. A hell of a fishin' buddy." Allison nodded. "41 years old, 6 years in the Marines, two wartime deployments, and almost 14 years on STRIKE. Guy gets through all 'a that, for what? To get taken out in a car accident?" Clint took another drink. "That's some bullshit."

"It is," she shook her head. "You believe they still haven't found that other guy? No witnesses."

"It's fucked up," he shook his head and shrugged. "I don't know. Between you and me? Something just don't sit right."

"Surprises like this come up, nothing makes much sense," Allison suggested.

"Yeah, that's true," Clint conceded. "But still."

Allison watched Janine nodding along in a conversation with a weak smile and puffy eyes. It was a little hard to watch and, as Clint began to tell her a story about a mission he and Dave had gone on together, Allison panned her gaze over the room. Her eyes found Brock in the corner, in his own conversation with Rollins and Emery. She flashed him a small smile when he caught her eye and he gave her a subtle nod in reply. She frowned to herself when he looked back to Emery while he spoke and the turn of his head showed her the bruising on his neck peaking above the edge of his crisp shirt collar. She noticed a kind of worried sympathy on his face, when Brock looked over at Janine for a long moment, and she finished her drink with an uneasy and sad feeling. Being at the funeral did make her think and, seeing the reminder of Rumlow's battered body, she wondered how many years any of them had left before an unexpected end found them, even if it was an accident like they said Dave had had.

July 2015

Allison scanned the lobby with one smooth turn of her head, counting the civilians and assessing the threats from the security guards posted at the front desk and near the elevators, all within in a few short seconds. She put on a pleasant grin as she approached the desk in the center of the large, marble lobby of Stark Tower. Nodding politely, if not coming off a bit shy, to the armed guards chatting beside the reception desk, Allison waited patiently for the secretary to hang up from her phone call to greet her.

"May I help you?" the petite brunette smiled up from her seat.

"Good afternoon," Allison smiled back, slipping her sunglasses into the pocket of her coat. "I was wondering if you could tell me if Capt. Rogers is available, please."

"Do you have an appointment?" she asked.

"No," the charming spy smiled again. "I'm an old friend from work. I was in town for the day and thought I'd stop by."

"I'm sorry," the secretary began, "but if you don't have an appointment, for security reasons, I-"

"If you give him my name, I'm sure he'll come down," Allison promised.

The secretary let out a small sigh and Allison expected she had this situation come up quite often. "Ma'am, I'm sorry, but I can't help you."

"Can I leave him a message then?" Allison asked, giving a small, hopeful and disarming smile. 

The woman reluctantly put a piece of paper and pen up on the counter. "I'll send it along," she said, sounding a little put out.

Allison nodded her thanks and slid down the counter a couple of steps toward the guards to allow the person behind her to be helped. She wrote her name, her real name, making a few extra scratches at the edge of the paper as if the pen were out of ink. She gave it a disappointed frown in her hand, before turning to the pair of guards beside her with an embarrassed grin.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," she said, "but, can I borrow a pen from one of you?"

Both guards began to reach for a pen from their shirt pockets. The one closest to her had looked down to see where he was reaching and he was the one Allison hit first. A quick fist into his gut doubled him over to try to find his center of gravity and breath again. Her left arm hooked over the back of his neck to lock his head face down and pull him toward the ground, his sternum meeting her knee half way before she let him fall in a wheezing heap. He was down in barely two seconds, not long enough for his partner to react fast enough. 

Allison was on him in a flash, a palm strike up into his chin to stun him. He stumbled a step as he drew his weapon and the startled shrieks and gasps of the public and secretary said they finally realized what was happening. Allison trapped his hand, pushing his weapon back down into its holster and crashing an elbow across his jaw to send him reeling. In his moment of disorientation, Allison shed her coat to move better and have unfettered access to her weapons. She gave his dropped shoulder a push, turning him as she simultaneously dipped behind him, arm crossing his throat in a choke hold as he was pulled back to her shoulder and she stripped his gun from his side, pressing it into the hinge of his jaw.

The frightened civilians scrambled for cover or for the doors, as several security guards rushed towards Allison, their weapons pulled and pointed her way. The guards flanked her, edging to surround her slowly and yelling commands, as she turned in a tight circle to keep track of them all. Allison moved the gun off her human shield and hostage and aimed it around the lobby at the guards, a warning to keep their distance, before settling her sights on the guard with the sergeant stripes on his uniform sleeves.

"You," she said, looking the supervisor in the eye. "Do me a favor, boss. Take that piece of paper on the counter and give it to Capt. Rogers."

"Put down the gun and we'll talk," the sergeant countered, holding up a calming hand slowly. "Nobody has to get hurt."

Allison turned the gun back to the man grabbing at her arm and squirming for his balance. "Then pick up the fucking piece of paper and get it to Rogers," she slowly insisted.

The sergeant studied her a moment, before nodding to the guard near the counter. The guard warily reached over and palmed the paper, moving carefully to hand over the note to the man in charge. Taking his eyes off Allison, the sergeant read the paper in his hand and gave her a quizzical look.

"It's just a name," he pointed out.

"Give the name to Capt. Rogers," she nodded. "Tell him, we need to talk."

The sergeant seemed unnerved as he holstered his weapon and reached for the microphone on his shoulder. "2Sam82 to Control," he called, glancing again at the paper in his hand. "Be advised, the suspect ID is Allison Addams. Suspect is requesting to speak to Capt. Rogers."

There was a short pause before the dispatcher radioed back. "Additional units en route. All units, stand by."

Allison waited, choking a little tighter when the man in the crook of her arm tried to twist out and giving him a strike down into his brachial plexus with the butt of his own gun to persuade him to be still. She didn't wait long. She had assumed the initial ruckus in the lobby would have any one upstairs in the tower down to the lobby quickly and get Rogers in front of her. She wasn't necessarily disappointed. Rushing into the fray, as civilians still scattered about, was Romanoff and Barton. A third man, a handsome black man with a goatee and balled up fists, Allison didn't recognize stopped by their side.

Romanoff's eyes leveled and she drew a pistol from her thigh to point at Allison the moment she saw it really was her. "Let him go, Addams," she ordered.

"Where's Rogers?" Allison asked, eyes shifting over the guards and the pair of former agents in front of her.

"The fuck, Addams?" Barton complained, looking Allison up and down. "I thought you were dead."

"Not now, Barton," Natasha scolded, quietly. 

"He's not here," the unnamed man answered. "What do you want with him?"

"I have to talk to him," Allison said, jerking to her right to aim at an overzealous guard who took a step in at her.

"Stand down!" Romanoff yelled, throwing up a hand to halt the guards who flinched in response. "She'll kill half of you before the first body hit the floor."

"You don't want to die like this," Allison told the guard, giving him a half sweep of her head, with a confident smirk and then an approving nod when he retreated back two steps.

"Addams," Natasha warned. "You're going about this all wrong. Why don't you just let him go and tell me-"

Allison turned the gun on Romanoff. "I have to talk to Capt. Rogers," she repeated firmly. "Now."

Eyes fixed on Natasha's, Allison knew she understood neither of them would back down. Allison gave the hostage's nerve another blow, letting him go and kicking him forward as he doubled over in pain. She steadied her grip with two hands, aim still on Romanoff, the biggest threat in the lobby besides herself. There was a short standoff while the freed hostage staggered to the safety of his fellow officers and their weapons retrained on Allison. With a quick side eye check of her surroundings, Allison broke her grip, opening her arms wide and bending them 90 degrees to hold her hands up. She lowered herself to her knees and crossed her ankles. Pressing the magazine release, she let her ammo fall to the floor and flipped the gun in her hand to slip from her palm and hang from her thumb in the trigger guard.

Romanoff signaled the guards to wait and for the one nearest to her to give her a pair of hand cuffs. She sent Barton forward. He stripped the gun from Allison's opened hand, clearing the round from the chamber and stashing the gun in the small of his back. He folded Allison's hands on top of her head and held her there with his left hand cranked down hard over both of hers. He pulled her weapons from their holsters, handing them off to a pair of guards he waved over. He did a search for any weapons he didn't see and, when he was sure she didn't have anything else, he nodded to Natasha. The Russian came closer, keeping her gun trained on Allison's head as she tossed the cuffs to Barton.

"Take her upstairs," Romanoff ordered.

Nov 2013

"I appreciate you coming along," the Captain said, resting a hand on Allison's shoulder as she cinched the leg strap of her parachute snug against her thigh. 

"Don't thank me," Allison smiled, inclining her head at Rumlow at the head of the cabin. "I just go where the paperwork sends me." 

Brock smirked, with an amused bob of his head, as he turned away from the mission briefing packet on the monitor. "You're just lucky, Cap, that she was out of rotation from her team and speaks Pashtu."

In front of her, Rollins gave the straps of her chute at her shoulders a good tug, eyeing over the closures. "Lucky you, right?" he snorted. "Even if they _do_ think you're just a 'terp, dropping into a country that hates women."

He clapped his hands on Allison's shoulders to say he was done. "Don't worry, Jack," she winked. "Pretty thing like you? I won't let them hurt ya."

The rest of the Captain's squad from Delta team chuckled around them and Rollins gave Allison a playful smack up the side of her helmeted head. "Alright, you two," Rumlow rolled his eyes. He looked over the cabin and barked, "Check equipment."

The operators checked each other down the line, clapping hands on backs and counting out by numbers they were 'okay'. From the cockpit, Agent Romanoff called over her shoulder that the jet was four minutes from the first drop zone. She called Allison up front for a moment. 

"Yeah," Allison answered, leaning her elbows onto the headrests of the pilot's seats as she glanced over the info on the jet's HUD and out the windows ahead to the low hanging sun.  

"I hate to even say it," Romanoff began, eyes fixed on the controls, as she made a small correction in the nav computer, "but if I don't ask, I'll never hear the end of it."

Allison straightened up, rolling her eyes and groaning out a sigh, figuring she knew where this was going. "Again?" she all but whined.

Natasha smirked, with a quiet laugh. "I know," she nodded.

"Then why bring it up?" Allison complained.

"Because every time I see Boweman, he hounds me about it," she explained, squaring back up into her seat. "So, why don't you do me a favor and throw the guy a bone?"

Allison shook her head and laughed. "Sorry, but I'm not interested. And since when is 'match maker' on your resumé?"

"Aw, come on," Romanoff prodded, looking up over her shoulder at Allison. "He's a nice guy, good sense of humor. He's practically the only good looking, single guy in Forensics. Besides, nobody wants to be alone for the holidays."

"Then why don't you date him?" Allison countered.

"Not my type," she smirked. "What's your excuse?"

"I'm seeing someone," Allison told her, resting her arm back down onto the copilot's seat.

"You're seeing someone?" Natasha challenged, quirking up a suspicious eyebrow.

"Yep," she said, checking her watch against the display on the Quinjet. "He's an investment banker. Nothing too serious, but it's fun. So, you can tell Boweman, it's not gonna happen. And stop trying to set me up."

"I'll let him know," Romanoff nodded, still sounding like she didn't quite believe her. Allison smiled her appreciation and started for the rear of the plane to rejoin her temporary team assignment. "It's been awhile since we talked," Natasha noted and Allison turned around again. "We should get together soon, catch up. I want to hear more about this banker guy."

"Let's grab a drink after Thanksgiving," Allison suggested.

"Sounds like a plan," Natasha agreed.

"If you two ladies are done gossiping?" Rumlow rolled his eyes, folding his arms and moving his eyes to watch Allison pass him. Brock turned back to the operators. "Masks on," he ordered, sliding an oxygen mask overhead when his pilot's did and the operators latched their's closed into their helmets.

Romanoff looked back to check everyone was geared up before lowering the ramp and advising, "30 seconds to the first drop."

"Alpha, you have 8 hours to make your approach, infiltrate the camp, and locate and secure our pilot," Brock reminded them, as the team double checked seals and airflow. "Bravo will recover the film and computer from the downed reconnaissance flight and secure the extraction point. Exfil will occur at oh-400, whether you're there or not." He checked his watch and ordered, "Alpha, step up to the door. ...Good luck."

Lined up beside the downed ramp, the jumpmaster gave the 'go' command, sending the first operator out of the Quinjet with a slap on the back. The six man team filed out in a row. The last one in line, Allison spun on her heel, taking a backward step off the ramp with a salute to Steve lining up to come out behind her. Allison flattened out in the wind, checking her altimeter and spotting the rest of her team beneath her. Diving down to join them, she smiled to herself, thinking of Brock shaking his head at her and sending her a wink before she dropped below the deck of the jet and out of sight.


	31. Chapter 31

July 2015

On the outside, she was the picture of serenity, indifferent to and unaffected by her predicament. Her face expressionless and eyes fixed ahead, she said nothing as the minutes passed. Inside, Allison was impatient and uncomfortable. The shackles around her wrists made her skin crawl, the captivity stirring anxiousness and unpleasant memories of various tortures she endured with her hands bound. She kept her wits about her, with practiced breathing and a sharp attention to passing time.

24 minutes had gone by since she was handcuffed to the cold, metal table in the middle of the interrogation room. Romanoff had tried to talk to her. The Russian's questions met a single response, "I need to speak to Capt. Rogers, immediately". After several minutes, Natasha recognized she was getting nowhere and left the room.

It wasn't long after she left, the room locking down behind her, that Romanoff reappeared in the hall outside beside Rogers. Allison's eyes met his critical look from his side of the secured door and bulletproof glass. He turned away, his back to the window, as he spoke to Natasha. The Russian folded her arms stubbornly and shook her head at whatever the Captain was saying. Allison watched carefully, taking note of the words she saw form on Romanoff's lips.

"She doesn't have anything on her and she's cuffed to the table, but keep your distance. She's still dangerous. I don't know what she's up to, but she came here with a plan. ...She won't say anything, except that she needs to speak to you. ...Steve, just be smart about this. You don’t know whose side she’s on. We don’t know if she can be trusted. Whatever she tells you will probably be a lie." 

Capt. Rogers entered the interrogation room, making sure the door was shut behind him and waiting to hear it lock before he stepped away. The fact that Allison had surrendered of her own will and choosing appeared to have done little to convince him of any good intentions. Her reputation still clearly preceded her and god knows whatever lies or rumors about any involvement with HYDRA had as well. He crossed the room to stand in front of her on the far side of the table, glancing down at her fisted hands shackled to the table and then looking her in the eye.

“And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and her name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with her." Steve said, his expression hard and eyes cold. "I’m surprised to see you alive, let alone here. ...What do you want Addams?”

“I need your help,” she told him.

Rogers’ rigid posture raised slightly at the long breath he took in. Folding his arms across his broad chest, he studied her for a long moment. Allison was motionless, her hands folded patiently as she waited for his judgement. He was practically a living lie detector.

“I can’t help you,” he finally said.

“You haven’t even heard what I'm asking for,” she pointed out, calm and even.

“Try this then,” he suggested. “I _won’t_ help you.”

“Why not?” she asked. Allison figured she knew the answer, but wanted to hear it from him firsthand.

“Because you can’t be trusted,” he said, flatly.

“You’re wrong,” Allison assured him. “I’m not who you think I am.”

“Isn’t that the problem?” he threw back at her. “No one knows who you are.”

It was the answer she expected, but it was the sting of the words and the way he said them that she hadn't counted on. "You know me," she reminded him. "You've known me for years. We were friends once."

"I don't keep friends with liars," he bit. "And I certainly don't keep friends with HYDRA." He leaned down hard and fast, his palms pounding down into the table to support his stiffened arms. "I could kill you for what you've done," he hissed angrily, eyes leveled and nostrils flaring. 

Allison was still, unflinching and looking him in the eye, her face unreadable. She let him have his say. It was the least she could do.

"The people you killed, the lives you've ruined," Rogers reminded her. "Do you have any idea the things you've destroyed? And you have the balls to come in here, to _my_ home, to attack and turn guns on _innocent_ people." His eyes ran over what he could see of her, snorting in disdain and straightening up when she didn't react. "You're a liar. Just another trained killer. Cold and dead inside, like the bodies you leave behind you. ...Do you have any remorse? Does Death even have the _capacity_ to feel?"

Allison let a pause pass. "I need your help," she said, again, earnest and unchallenging. "Turn off the cameras and lis-"

"You're going to jail," he promised her, indifferent to her request. "You'll answer for every one of your lies. There's nothing I would do to help you."

"You don't understand," she tried again, sitting forward to lean on the table edge. "There's not a lot of time, Cap. I kno-"

Steve came back into the table, hand punching down and denting the metal beneath his fist. "You don't get to call me that anymore," he growled. 

"Steve," Romanoff's voice came in from a speaker in the ceiling, a one word warning to calm down.

The Captain huffed out a breath, eyes still fixed on Allison's but voice calmed a level. "We're not friends," he assured her. "I don't owe you anything and I regret not killing you when I had the chance."

He stood up and turned to leave. If he couldn't be reasoned with, she only had one move to play. She hoped he wouldn't ignore this one.

"32557038," Allison said, clearly and loud enough to be sure he couldn't miss her.

Rogers stopped, frozen mid-stride. He turned over his shoulder to look at her. "What the fuck did you just say?" he breathed, eyes searching wildly back and forth between hers.

"32557038," she calmly repeated.

Now she had his attention. She saw the quickened rise and fall of his chest and his jaw set forward. Rogers threw a glance at the mirrored glass hiding the observation room.

"Shut it down," Rogers ordered.

"Steve, don't-"

"I said, shut it down!" he cut off Romanoff's plea. No doubt, another warning not to listen to Allison.

"Fine," was the terse response from the speaker.

Steve waited a moment, eyes flitting up to the cameras in the corners of the room, checking to see when the red lights went off to say no one was listening anymore. He moved in close, kicking the leg of her chair to angle her toward him and grabbing a fistful of her HYDRA uniform to keep her attention. Allison assumed that telling Rogers about Barnes would be emotional, but she was surprised by how much it seemed to piss him off that she had even spoken his serial number.

"How do you know that number?" he asked, his voice low with suspicion and underlying anger.

"I know where he is, but I don't have much time," Allison told him, her eyes keeping track of the Captain's. "I need your help."

"I help you and you tell me where he is?" Rogers suggested, a displeased sneer on his lips. "Is that it?"

"Help me and I can save his life," she corrected.

The Captain let her go, with a shove that sent the chair legs screeching back a couple inches on the smooth concrete floor, and studied her for a long, silent minute. "How can I possibly believe you?"

"Why would I come here; risk exposing myself after a year of being off the grid, just to lie to you?" she asked. "What could I possibly get from any of this for myself?"

"Why would you help him?" he pressed.

"Because I told him I would," Allison said. "He remembers you. He knows you've been trying to find him. Now, I can save him, but I need your help."

Steve stepped back, jaw working in thought. He moved around the edge of the table, pulling out the seat across from Allison to sit down. "Tell me everything."

June 2015

"So, what are you going to do after this?"

Allison stopped sorting through the paper to-go bag and glanced over at Barnes. "What, like after lunch?" she smirked.

"No," he chuckled, accepting the burger she handed him. "I mean, after all of this. What happens after you find Rumlow?"

With a shrug, Allison unwrapped her sandwich and took a bite. While she chewed, she turned and hopped up to sit on the lid of the trunk. She still didn't really have a plan. She figured it all hinged on what happened when she found him; what he did, what he said. More importantly, it depended on being able to keep Barnes from killing Rumlow the instant they found him.

"I don't know," she admitted. "You?"

"Keep going," Barnes decided, as he chewed, leaning back to rest against the side of their latest stolen vehicle. "Rumlow's not the last HYDRA agent."

"You have a plan?" she asked.

"Destroy everything," he stated, simply. "Tear it all down, a piece at a time, like I have been."

"And when it's done?" Allison prodded. "When HYDRA's gone?"

"It's going to take awhile," he admitted, with an almost bashful smile. "You could call it my five year plan."

Allison snickered, reaching for her drink. "You'll never get them all," she rationalized. "Even if you don't believe that 'cut off one head' shit, there's always someone, something else."

"I know," Barnes conceded. "But it's a good way to kill time."

They both chuckled. "You ever consider reaching out to Capt. Rogers, after you finish with Rumlow?" Allison wondered.

Barnes shrugged, cocking his head thoughtfully, as he pulled a drink through his straw. "I don't know that Steve would necessarily approve of my methods," he smirked.

"I can think of a couple things you've done that might earn a lecture," Allison mused.

"That's an understatement," he snorted. "I can think of quite a few."

"Nah," she smiled. "I'm sure he'd do anything to have you back."

"Sometimes you can't go back," Barnes soberly noted. "Sometimes things just change too much."

"So, you'll never talk to him?" she asked. "Just going to keep running away from him?"

Barnes shook his head, looking around the sparsely populated park, as he took another bite of his lunch. "I don't know," he confessed. "Maybe, somewhere a long ways down the road." He twisted to look at her over his shoulder. "You're one to talk."

"Me?" Allison laughingly balked. "What'd I do?"

"You left your family and friends a year ago," he pointed out, "going off on your one woman campaign, and you have the balls to tell me _I'm_ running away like you're not doing the same?"

"I'll give you that one," she nodded. "But nobody's interested in looking for me." Allison elbowed the back of his shoulder. "Steve misses you. He's been grieving you since he woke up and, now that he knows you're alive, you're keeping the one thing from him that he'd give anything to have back. Maybe the next time he catches up to you, you could stand still for a second and at least wave 'hello'."

Barnes snorted, nodding and taking in a deep breath. "Yeah," he quietly agreed. "Maybe I'll wave."

"That's better," Allison proudly smiled. "It's a start, anyway."

Beside her, Barnes chuckled. "What would he do if he saw us now? Sitting in a park, eating cheeseburgers, like we're not on a manhunt."

Allison had to laugh. "Don't know that I'd live long enough to see the reaction," she quipped. "Pretty sure he's got some strong, and negative, opinions about me."

His brow rose, intrigued, and Barnes smiled, telling her, "Well, maybe he doesn't know you like I do."

"That's for damned sure," she agreed.

She considered what he said, as she chewed. She still had never explained herself or her history to Barnes. Allison wasn't entirely sure if he had decided where she came from or whose side she was on. Allison wondered if even she was sure who she was anymore. 

They ate for a couple minutes in silence, eyes keeping watch over their surroundings, before Barnes spoke up, sounding inspired as he offered, "Kate, I think I have an idea about what you can do after we find Rumlow."

"Oh, yeah?" she wondered, plainly intrigued. "What's that?"

"Stay with me," he told her, wadding up his sandwich wrapper in his hand, as he walked around the back of the car to drop it in the bag beside her.

"Really?" she doubted, giving him a sarcastically skeptical look.

"Not that like, ya tramp," Barnes smirked. "I mean, like you and me just keep going. I have ta admit, the work is a little easier with the help."

"Like Bonnie and Clyde?" Allison offered, with a laugh.

"Except for the part where they die in a hail of bullets at the end, yeah," he smiled. "What d'ya say? Unless you've got better plans..."

"Nothing comes to mind," she shrugged.

"So, it's settled," Barnes decided, with a smile, holding out his cup. "After we find Rumlow, you 'n me, we'll rid the world of evil."

"Sounds like a plan," Allison nodded, raising her hand to tap her drink into the side of his, "partner."


	32. Chapter 32

July 2015

"I don't like this."

"She can hear you, you know," Romanoff pointed out to Sam, from her seat in the cockpit. 

"I don't care," he retorted. "And I still don't like this." Wilson turned to look at Rogers in the copilot's chair. "You can't tell me you're _actually_ okay with this."

"She has information on Bucky," the Captain reminded him. "For what she's promised to give us in trade on HYDRA, it's worth enough to check out. And you don't have to like it. I didn't ask either of you to come along."

"Yeah," Wilson scoffed, throwing a glance over his shoulder to Allison, sitting silently in one of the jumpseats along the bulkhead. "Like we'd let you fly off into the night with a double agent assassin by yourself."

Allison closed her eyes, easing her head back to rest on the top of her seat back. She wasn't there to make friends and she didn't expect to. Wilson's words didn't offend her, they made her worry if he would be reliable in the field. If he disregarded any part of the plan, it wasn't going to work.

"13 minutes to LZ," Natasha announced from the pilot's seat, loud enough to be sure Allison caught the warning. "5 minutes to drop."

Allison sat up, leaning her elbows on her knees to see the back of Rogers' head around Wilson. "Captain," she said, for his attention. Rogers only response was to turn his head to hear her and she shook her head to herself at how things had changed. "Gonna need that weapons cabinet unlocked, sir."

"Captain?" Sam tutted. "Sir? Laying the ass kissing on a little thick, aren't we?"

"Respect is earned," Allison remarked, sending him a leveled glare before looking back to Rogers and waiting.

"Oh, hell no," Wilson shook his head. "You better get one thi-"

"Open the cabinet, Sam," the Captain told him. When Wilson turned over his shoulder to argue, Rogers shut him down with one word. "Sam."

"You got it, Cap," Wilson begrudgingly accepted.

Allison stood up, noticing the side eye glance and smirk Romanoff sent over her shoulder after Sam. She seemed a little amused by the exchange between the men. Wilson gave Allison a wary once over, before turning his back to her to unlock the weapons stash. Allison folded her arms and waited, careful not to send any wrong signals. With the cabinet open, he stepped aside, overseeing Allison as she pulled out a rack of pistols and rifles.

"Here," Natasha said, standing from her seat in the cockpit.

Romanoff told Rogers he had control of the jet and moved to the rear of the plane. She reached into a bag on one of the bulkhead shelves. Natasha pulled out a pair of pistols, holding them together by the barrels in one hand and handing them to Allison. Allison recognized her own weapons and nodded her thanks to Natasha. Allison press checked the guns to make sure they were still loaded, before replacing them in her holsters.

"It's hard to find a new gun you like," Romanoff shrugged, "when you've used the same one for so long, right?"

"Thank you," Allison smiled, humbly.

"You just gave a traitor her loaded guns back," Wilson pointed out, with a jut of his chin, "and you're sitting there like you're talking about shoes."

"Sam," Rogers warned again, from the cockpit.

"Is there really a difference?" Natasha quipped, smiling at Wilson, before she returned to the pilot's seat.

Allison pulled a rifle from the rack for inspection, while Wilson kept watch. Satisfied, she hooked the sling over head and swung it to hang behind her. She picked out a couple grenades and extra magazines before sliding the rack back into the cabinet, locking it into place and re-securing the cabinet panel out of habit. Allison turned to cross to the other side of the cabin and stopped short, when she came face to face with Wilson. He stared down his nose at her, with a suspicious glint in his eye. Allison cocked her head and quirked up a brow, her expression asking if he was going to move.

Up front, Romanoff said, "Steve?"

Rogers looked over his shoulder and frowned. " _Sam_."

"Alright," Wilson grimaced, turning out of Allison's way and following her with his eyes.

Allison packed the grenades into a backpack with the extra ammunition. She rummaged around in the equipment stowed on the bulkhead shelves. She pulled on a pair of hard knuckle gloves and stashed a heavier pair of leather gloves in the cargo pocket on her leg, for the time being. Allison walked around Sam again, hoisting a heavy rope off it's hook and latching it to a ring in the ceiling of the jet over the bay doors in the deck. When she'd double checked the line, Allison went up to the cockpit.

"My vehicle's stashed in the wood line, about 10 meters off the road," she reminded Romanoff. "It's 16 minutes to get back to the gate. Remember to approach the landing zone low and from the south." Allison checked her watch. "Once I'm inside, it should take me about another 7 minutes to get into the infirmary. Captain, you and Wilson standby unless I signal any trouble. The southern perimeter is the longest face of the compound. Patrol coverage is more spread out and is the easiest ingress for you. Keep the channel clear."

"Stealth will hide us from radar," Natasha said, "but I won't be able to do much from the observation altitude."

"If everything goes to plan," Allison shrugged, "you won't have to. Just call the action if it gets noisy and get to the LZ to extract Barnes and the team."

"Team. Ha," Wilson quietly huffed, his eyes raking over Allison.

Allison threw him a look. "I didn't say my team," she pointedly said.

"What does that mean?" Romanoff asked, giving Allison a suspicious glance.

"She means her team from HYDRA," Sam decided.

"I mean," Allison corrected, " _your_ team." She looked down at the Captain. "I promised you Barnes and I'll deliver. If I don't make the extraction, don't wait."

"That won't be a problem," Wilson grumbled.

It was Natasha's turn to scold him. "Sam," she bit.

He ignored her, folding his arms and baiting Allison, "And what if you can't find him? If he's already gone or you can't get him out?"

"I'll get him out," Allison promised.

She was surprised, when Romanoff backed her up. "Addams has never failed an objective."

"Yeah," Wilson argued, "but she never tried to steal from her buddies either."

"I'm not asking for you to like this, to believe me, or trust me," Allison told Wilson, looking him in the eye. "Just do your fucking job and I'll do mine."

Sam was ready to start a fight, but Romanoff told them, "We're over the drop point."

The jet started its decent and Natasha warned to stand clear, she was opening the bay doors. Allison shouldered on her backpack with her extra supplies and received an affirmative reply to her check of her comms from Natasha. She stepped to the edge of the opening in the deck, reaching out to grab and tuck the line she'd hung into the crook of her arm. Pulling on her extra set of gloves, Allison peeked down to the ground below.

"I'll need 23 minutes to get to Barnes and begin the exfil," Allison reminded them.

"I'll give you 25," the Captain told her. "If you don't signal you're en route to the rendezvous by then, we'll come in and get him ourselves."

Allison nodded her understanding and Natasha told her, "37 feet. It's the best I can do with the trees."

"Close enough," Allison shrugged, hooking her boot around the line and swinging out over the bay doors.

Allison fast roped down to the pavement of the two lane road. On the ground, she shook off her outer gloves and sprinted into the wood line to retrieve the SUV she'd hid before she stole the plane to get to New York. The Quinjet rose and disappeared toward the south. Allison started the stopwatch on her watch, tossing her pack onto the passenger seat and laying her rifle on the floorboard. She climbed into the driver's seat, pulled out onto the road, and put down the gas pedal, hoping to buy some time to get to Barnes, in case she needed it.

Aug 2013

Allison smirked to herself, hearing the front door open and then the near whisper of it closing. If it hadn't been for the smell of food filling the townhouse, she figured Brock would have been halfway through clearing the first floor to find whoever had left the front door unlocked. She waited for him, perched on the kitchen counter, riding out the last few minutes of the oven timer and typing field notes into the mission debrief open on her SHIELD tablet. Brock appeared, leaning around into the kitchen doorway.

"I don't remember ordering dinner," he said, coming into the room and setting a plastic bag on the counter.

"Got done early," she told him, sending him a quick smile, as she worked.

Rumlow stopped in front of her, looking down over the top of her screen. "What's this?"

"Closing out my part of the debriefing for Oslo," Allison answered. "How was Virginia?"

"Good," he nodded, watching her type. "Got held up a bit with the weather. Rained like a mother fucker, put us off by an hour."

"Yeah," she nodded. "We caught the edge of that coming back down the coast. It was a little bumpy." He interrupted her with a quick kiss. "Like any of the candidates?"

Brock snorted, tossing his head back. "They're all green and cocky," he smirked. "We worked some 'a that out of 'em today."

Allison chuckled, shaking her head. "Always making new friends."

"Well," he began, matter of factly and with a shrug, "I'm a likable guy."

She stopped, looking him in the eye. Allison could only hold her straight face a moment before breaking into a laugh. "Yeah, I'm sure that's what they're saying about you in their bunks, right now."

"I'm gonna have you and a couple of the guys from your team put them through some exercises on the confidence course, for a few days, while you're out of rotation. Overtime authorized," he informed her, walking to the refrigerator. He took out a beer and twisted the cap off for a long drink while Allison continued with her report. "I'll send you the schedule for Monday and you can notify your guys tonight."

"Anything in particular?" she wondered, a little surprised and flattered to have him include her in the training process for the new STRIKE candidates.

"Teamwork," he said, sounding irritated by the simple word. "They're a bunch of fucking cowboys. Everyone wants a slot on the teams, but they don't work together. Gotta break that fast."

"Sounds fun," Allison said, with a mischievous smile tugging up the side of her mouth.

Brock came back to stand in front of her, taking another drink and noting, "Didn't expect you till the morning. How'd you get back so soon?"

She looked up with a smile. "Teamwork," she winked, taking the drink from his hand and helping herself to a long pull.

He snuffled a laugh, shaking his head at her when she handed him back the bottle and went back to her work. Brock set his beer aside on the counter and pulled the tablet up from Allison's lap. She uncrossed her feet, when he stepped in to move between her knees, complaining that she wasn't finished with her report yet.

"You can send it in later," he assured her, tucking and curling his fingers tightly into the pockets at her hips and giving her neck a playful nip.

"Dinner's almost done," she warned him, folding her arms over his shoulders.

"Fine," Brock said, mumbling the word into her throat with a kiss. 

As if on cue, the timer on the stove clock went off. Allison slid off the counter, standing pressed between Rumlow and the countertop, for a moment. She gave him a kiss, before sidestepping to the oven to take out the chicken and vegetables. Brock took a pair of plates down from the cupboard, setting them on the counter beside her and giving her ass a playful pinch on his way to get another beer from the fridge.

"What's in the bag?" she asked, inclining her head behind her to the package he had brought in.

"Breakfast," he told her, moving to take a plain white bakery box from the rain spotted bag. "Got your croissants." He shrugged. "It was on the way home. Figured it'd save me the trip in the morning."

July 2015

Allison reached back as she drove, pulling the duffel on the bench of the back seat up front with her. Eyes fixed on the road, she felt for the phone Rumlow told her would be there. After a short search, she found it in one of the pockets. Allison turned it on, throwing quick glances at the device powering up as she drove and tapping to the contact list. There was no information attached to the only number in the phone. Allison made the call, pinching the phone between her ear and shoulder as she sped around a pair of civilian vehicles on the road in front of her.

She smiled in relief, as a familiar voice answered, saying, "Somehow, I was expecting to hear from you sooner."

Allison chuckled, hearing the smirk in his voice. "I was unavoidably detained. Is this line secure?"

"It's secure," Rumlow assured her. 

"I'm on my way," she told him.

"ETA?" he checked.

Allison glanced at her watch, optimistically figuring, "9 minutes."

"What do you need?" Brock asked her.

"Access into the Southeast gate," she told him.

"You'll have it," he told her.

"I need access to Barnes and a uniform for him," Allison requested. "I'll need a minute to read him in, so I'll need as much of the infirmary staff removed as possible."

"He won't be in the infirmary," Brock updated her. "The docs are finished with him. He's been transferred to holding while they ready the cryo unit to transport him out."

"How do I find him?" she asked, shaking her head in frustration.

There was a pause on the other end of the call. In the background, Allison strained to hear a pair of unfamiliar voices come and go. Wherever he was, Rumlow wasn't alone and it gave Allison a quick pang of nervousness that the plan wouldn't go as smoothly as she promised Rogers it would.

"I'll take you to him," Brock finally answered. Allison nodded to herself, understanding the plan was all but out the window and she'd be shooting from the hip on this one. "I'll meet you at the gate."


	33. Chapter 33

**Hello everyone!**

**Just a quick note from your author...**

**I'm leaving for vacation and will not have Internet access while I'm gone. Unfortunately, that means no new chapters until I return.**

**I will be back on my regular weekly posting schedule beginning Monday August 22. Please be patient and maybe enjoy rereading from the start to kill time:)**

**Trust me, I'm going to miss this as much as you are. If you follow my main blog ( @whostheblondegirl ) or my writing blog ( @whostheblondegirlwriting ) over on tumblr, there are some scheduled posts to keep the blogs running. Check out the writing master list there for an extra way to kill time.**

**I'll miss you all (and my muses). I'll answer comments here and tumblr messages/asks as soon as I get home, so feel free to keep sharing your thoughts and such with me.**


	34. Chapter 34

July 2015

Allison slowed, driving cautiously up to the southeast gate of the compound. In her ear, she heard Romanoff announce Allison's arrival at the gate. She stopped, at the direction of the raised hand of the soldier standing outside the heavily reinforced guard shack. Lowering her window, Allison held the identification card she'd made for herself out for his inspection, adding a disinterested jut of her chin to acknowledge his request to remove her sunglasses. Allison casually dropped the glasses onto the seat beside her, using the move to pan her gaze over the perimeter. The soldier at Allison's window gave an acknowledgement into his microphone and handed back the ID card.

The soldier gestured her to the side of the road with a bladed hand, telling her, "Move your vehicle to the inspection point, Lieutenant."

"Anything wrong, Sergeant?" Allison questioned, nonchalantly.

"The base is under SecCon-4, ma'am," he explained. "All vehicles entering the facility must be searched. Standard procedure."

Allison nodded, with a compliant smile. "Right. Didn't know about the change."

She drove through the gate, turning to follow the hand signals from one of two armed soldiers waiting for her. Allison took the SUV out of gear and shut down the engine, muttering a profanity to herself about the delay, before the guard reached her window. She stepped out on command, replacing her sunglasses as she turned away from the driver's door and noticed the additional guards coming over, one with his K9. A blacked out Jeep approached the gate and came to a stop across the back of Allison's vehicle.

The search team stopped just inches away from opening the doors on the SUV, hearing an order from the lowered window of the Jeep. "Stand down. That won't be necessary, sergeant."

"Commander. Sir," the senior officer began, "all vehicles entering th-"

"I'm aware, sergeant," Brock nodded and Allison kept down the urge to smirk her relief at seeing Rumlow slide out of the Jeep and stand with his arm hanging on the door. He inclining his head toward Allison, adding, "Lt. Addams, you're late. Get your shit and let's go."

"Yes, sir," she nodded, adding in a slightly worried look, when she faced the guards, to sell the trouble Allison appeared to be in for being 'late'.

Allison stepped past the guards, grabbing her backpack and the rifle and bag she took off the Quinjet, as Brock turned to the HYDRA team. "Finish the inspection and secure the vehicle here for Lt. Addams."

"Yes, sir," the sergeant nodded.

Brock climbed back into the driver's seat of the running Jeep, as Allison went around to the passenger side. As soon as her door was shut, he pulled a U-turn and headed back into the compound. Allison threw a cautious look over her shoulder back toward her vehicle.

"You didn't leave them anything in there, did you?" he asked, quirking up an eyebrow as he glanced at her.

"Nothing that isn't HYDRA's," she assured him. "Tell me about SecCon-4."

"The base is on lockdown to all incoming agents and operators," he elaborated. "Flight line is down and all troops are on alert. Nobody in or out that doesn't have orders on them. It'll stay that way until the Asset is in cryo and airborne. Patrol strength is up, additional overlapping coverage of the perimeter, and you already saw the inspections first hand. Another 54 soldiers came in this morning to secure the compound."

"Fuck me," Allison muttered.

"Barnes is secured in a building on the east corner of the base," Brock told her. "The cell is a programming room we used to wipe his memory after missions and prep him for cryo, sublevel 3, north corner of the building."

"Has he been wiped?" Allison worried.

"Not yet," Brock shook his head. "It's scheduled for 2000 hours. The cryo transfer equipment will be ready by then. You've got a couple hours."

Allison checked her watch. "I've got 6 minutes," she grumbled.

"What are you up to?" he asked.

"I've got two men standing by at an extraction LZ one and a half klicks south," she told him, pulling a throat mic up from her collar to set on her neck, "and a Quinjet on overwatch at 3,000."

Rumlow chuckled, giving his head a small shake, "How the fuck did you come up with a Quinjet and anybody dumb enough to follow you in here?" he smiled, pointing to a building ahead of them.

Allison checked her earpiece and simply told him, "Rogers and Romanoff."

The smile on his face shrank to a disbelieving smirk. "'Unavoidably detained', huh?" She gave him an innocent smile and he nodded. "And how do you plan on getting him out?" Brock pressed.

"Gonna walk right out the front door," she told him.

"Ballsy," he thoughtfully nodded. Rumlow inclined his head. "Uniform's in the back."

She turned, grabbing the uniform to stuff in her bag, before activating her mic. "Rescue- Eagle Eye. Rescue- Eagle Eye. Copy?"

"Go ahead," Natasha's voice came into Allison's earpiece again.

"Change of venue," Allison advised.

"I've got you in the Jeep," Romanoff confirmed.

Allison turned to Rumlow, as he slowed to a stop in front of a two story building. "How long to get inside and to Barnes?"

"Five, six minutes tops to get through security checkpoints and get downstairs," he shrugged, putting the Jeep in park.

"I need more time," Allison said, into her mic.

"Negative. We're coming in," Rogers broke in.

" _Negative_. He's been moved, but I know where he is," Allison assured the Captain. "I just need a few more minutes to get to him."

"Natasha," Steve said, "guide us in through the compound."

"I'm outside the building," Allison argued. " _Standby_."

"This wasn't the plan," Rogers reminded her, sounding agitated.

"10 minutes," Allison insisted.

She held her breath and her eyes on Brock, waiting an agonizing few seconds before Rogers told her, "Ten minutes."

Allison nodded, warning Brock, "Ten minutes to start the extraction or Rogers comes in."

July 2013

"Lt. Addams," Rollins sarcastically, but nonetheless amused, begged, from the front of the briefing room, "would you care to explain why, in your infinite wisdom, you decided to ignore STRIKE SOP, moving on the objective before your cover team was in position and putting your fellow agents in unnecessary danger during this exercise?"

Allison sat a little straighter in her chair, before she answered, "Because the chow hall closed in 60 minutes. We were all pretty hungry, at that point, sir."

The room chuckled their amusement and, honestly, their support of the assessment. At the debriefing for the field training exercises for Charlie and Echo company, Allison and the rest of the fire team and squad leaders were over the painfully long after action review from Rollins almost as soon as they sat down. She wasn't the only one who lightened the mood with purposely short and smartass answers. She was just the one that Rumlow heard when he entered from the back of the room.

"Why don't you elaborate a little further on that reasoning, Lt. Addams," Brock gruffly suggested.

Allison winced into her shoulders and the snickering in the room didn't help her cause. Rumlow walked up the center aisle between the tables and chairs. He stopped beside the podium, next to Jack, at the head of the room and turned, folding his arms at rest behind him while he waited for Allison to oblige his request for more details. The operators fell silent under his glare and Allison softly cleared her throat.

"Sir," she began, "conditions were favorable for concealing my team's movements. There was a temporary vulnerability to be exploited in the deployment of the sentries on the objective perimeter that, had we waited the six minutes it would have taken for 2-Bravo to get into position, would have been lost and would have increased the likelihood of 1-Bravo's movement on the objective being detected. By taking the opportunity, 1-Bravo recovered the target, eliminated 80% of enemy resistance and were able to capture several hostiles for interrogation."

"The objective for this exercise was achieved," he agreed, with a single nod of his head, "but two of 1-Bravo's operators, yourself included, were wounded in the process. Arguably insignificant, non-fatal injuries, but injuries that, had this been a live fire exercise or actual operation, could have compromised the mission. Injuries, that had you waited for 2-Bravo to get into position, instead of acting outside the scope of the mission outline, likely would not have occurred. Can you tell me why you were so cavalier with your safety and the safety of your team?"

"Not 'cavalier', Sir," she corrected. "Confident. Field decisions are fluid and constantly evolving. We had a window and we were all in agreement to take it. With all due respect, Sir," Allison concluded, "we're not paid to be pussies."

Rumlow spoke over the stifled laughter that broke across the room. "What _are_ you paid for, Lt. Addams?"

"To win, Sir," she answered, firmly.

The other operators nodded their agreement and there was a pause, before Brock gave his own nod of approval, saying, "That's it exactly." He looked over the room. "Rules of engagement and orders are inflexible. Mission outlines don't always hold up against real-time intelligence. Remember that. ...Rely on your training, but don't ignore your gut. Some rewards only come from calculated risks, but there's no room for recklessness in this business. Lt. Addams and 1-Bravo took the risk and won. We adapt, improvise, and overcome. Now, some bureaucrat on the Hill, with his head up his ass, is going to tell you the mistakes you made from the comfort of his cushy office. ...Fuck 'im. All I need you to do is be the professionals you are, stay frosty, and get shit done." He pointed to the door. "Heroes end up on the wall downstairs," Brock reminded them. "Warriors meet in Valhalla." He nodded again. "Excellent work this weekend, for all the team and squad leaders. Rollins has the duty roster for those of you assisting in administering the war games next week for Bravo and Delta Teams. Everyone, enjoy what little is left of the weekend. Dismissed."

April 2014

"Gettin' real tired of this," Allison muttered, folding her arms and looking around the room.

"Tell me about it," Barton agreed. "Did you think, or maybe she-"

"No," Allison shook her head. "She never said anything. Everything was fine." She shrugged. "Well, as fine as it could be."

"It must'a been harder on her than she let on," he decided. 

All Allison could do was shake her head, disapprovingly. "It's not right."

"I know," he nodded.

"No, I mean-" She paused, casting another look around. "This wasn't her. Janine wouldn't do something like this."

"Hey, I get it," Clint said. "It's hard to believe, but-"

"She wouldn't kill herself," Allison insisted. "It was hard, but...she was handling it. Janine wasn't alone. She had her family and friends. She was getting better and was back at work. We had plans for next weekend. I'm telling you, she was going to be okay."

Barton studied her for a moment, before taking a cautious look around the room and stepping in a little closer. "You think something's funny about this," he told her, quietly. "Like what I said about Dave at his funeral."

Allison nodded, her eyes flicking over to meet his. "Don't you?"

"Yeah," he sighed. "Yeah, I do." Barton rubbed at his chin, adding, "There's a lot 'a things going on lately that don't seem right."

"It's been a rough few months," Allison noted.

"More names going up on that wall than there should be," he agreed. "What is it now? 2 KIAs, 5 in that chopper crash during training two months ago. I hear some whispers about people's families having accidents. Rumors, nothing to it. But Dave's accident, now Janine's suicide?" 

"Got any ideas?" she wondered, keeping an eye on the room.

"No," he breathed out, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "Nothing, just a hunch...Just a bad feeling."

"Like something's coming..." Allison nodded.

"Only you don't know what," he said, warily. "The next question is, what to do about it?"

Allison shook her head. "Walk it up the chain," she told him. "It's an IA matter."

"Know anybody you trust to ask around quietly?" Barton checked. 

"One or two," she told him. 

"You be careful, Al," he warned her. "If there's something going on that somebody doesn't want you asking questions about..."

"I know," Allison smiled. 

"I've been out too long," he groaned. "I don't know people around there like I used to."

"It's alright," she assured him. "I know someone who might be able to help."

Rumlow was out with Rogers, Romanoff, and part of Cap's Delta team. They left earlier that afternoon for a hostage rescue mission. A mobile satellite launch platform and her crew had been taken hostage and held for ransom. The Captain and his team were sent to "negotiate" the safe release of the hostages and retake control of the ship. It wasn't an especially complicated sortie. She expected him home in 16 hours or less. She would share her suspicions with him then and see about passing them on to Director Fury. If there was some kind of systematic elimination going on, she didn't trust anyone else to help her find out.


	35. Chapter 35

July 2015

"Gimme that tablet," Rumlow said, holding out his hand to wait.

Allison unzipped her go bag and pulled out his tablet to unlock it for him. Brock made a few swipes and taps at the screen. He drummed his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel for a moment, waiting for something to load. He handed it back to Allison, telling her, "Keep that handy."

She followed his lead, getting out of the Jeep when he did. He told her to leave the rifle in the car. It would rouse suspicions in the building and she wouldn't be able to take it past the second checkpoint anyway. Shouldering her backpack with Barnes' uniform, Brock tapped his ID badge to unlock the front door of the building, holding it open for Allison to pass. She walked a half-step behind his shoulder, crossing the short lobby to the first checkpoint. With Rumlow next to her, it wasn't as uncomfortable, this time, to pose in the HYDRA uniform.

"Good afternoon, Commander. State your business today, Sir," the guard at the computer said and Allison surrendered her bag to be inspected, at his partner's request.

"Interrogation," Rumlow simply answered. "Level C, Prisoner Barnes."

Brock and Allison both handed over their IDs to be scanned. Allison let out a bored breath, as she nonchalantly swept her eyes over the room. She noted the cameras in the ceiling and the sets of heavily armed guards, a pair on either side of the lobby.

"Take your time," Brock sarcastically said, cocking up an annoyed eyebrow at the soldier going through Allison's backpack, as he checked his watch.

The man looked instantly flustered and immediately handed the bag back to Allison. "Sorry, Sir."

Rumlow gave him an accepting jut of his chin. They collected their IDs and were waved on. Down the hallway and around the corner, they stopped at a bank of elevators, Brock pressed the call button and watched the display above the doors.

"Remember where we go," he began, in a low voice, "When we get downstairs, don't speak to anyone. I forged you an interrogation order for Barnes to get you in, but I can't guarantee who's in there right now." The elevator doors slid open and Brock gestured her ahead of him. "Your ID has been recoded," he went on, pressing the button for the third sublevel. "If an alarm is triggered, it'll pass you through any door, like the security forces."

Allison nodded. "Got it."

When the elevator opened again, it was to a small lobby. In front of the only door in the room was another checkpoint. Allison and Brock approached the desk and both guards stood. Beyond them, four more soldiers, as well equipped as the ones upstairs, stood on either side of the solid metal double doors. One guard at the desk took identification cards to scan again. The other asked them their business.

Again, Rumlow summarized, "Interrogation of Prisoner Barnes."

The guard peered down at his computer screen for a moment, before challenging Rumlow. "I don't have an authorization for an interrogation today, Sir."

"Last minute assignment before the Asset is transferred." Brock turned to Allison. "Lt. Addams, your orders."

Allison unlocked the tablet, twisting her wrist around for the device to face the guard. He took the tablet, reading the memorandum on screen and comparing it to what he saw on his own computer. Handing the tablet back to Allison, he shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Sir," he began, "but I don't have the authentication in my system."

Brock opened his hand for the tablet. Allison gave it to him and he held it in front of the guard's face for him to see again. "What is the time stamp on these orders, Specialist Becker?" he asked.

"1428 hours, Sir."

"And what time is it now?" Rumlow pressed.

"1740, Sir."

"And can you read the name of the person who issued this order, Specialist?" Brock asked, his tone rising a level in irritation.

"It's Director Cerbelli, Sir."

"Well, no shit," Rumlow sarcastically marveled, turning the screen to see for himself. "Now, Lt. Addams was kind enough to come down here and interrogate Barnes, at the last minute and the Director's request, and she has two hours until he's transferred into cryo and effectively mute. You think you can unfuck your head out of your ass long enough to validate her orders here, or would you like to see if Cerbelli is done with dinner, _Private_ Becker?"

Not surprisingly, the guard changed his mind. He took back the tablet, typing some information into his computer. When he was finished, the guard returned the device and their ID cards. His counterpart handed Brock and Allison an additional badge to display and they clipped them onto their uniforms. There was a large metallic clunk, as the doors unlocked and opened behind the checkpoint. The soldiers standing post beside the doors stood a little straighter as Rumlow passed.

Brock showed Allison down the corridor, as the heavy steel doors secured behind them. Allison observed the cameras in the ceiling corners and mapped her path through a series of turns in the halls. For the distance they had walked, Allison let out an aggravated sigh, realizing they had to be at the far end of the building. This definitely wasn't getting any easier. Brock gave her a subtle nod as his pace slowed.

"We're here," he told her.

With a quick check of the hall, to see if anyone was in ear shot, Allison activated her comms again. "Rescue- Eagle Eye. Target located. Standby."

"Roger that," Natasha replied.

Allison and Rumlow exchanged a look and Brock used his badge to open the door. The door opened into a large control room. There were a pair of lab coat wearing techs at one console who snapped up in their seats, plainly startled at seeing Rumlow behind them, and two uniformed men seated at a station observing cameras trained on Barnes. There was a large wall of thick windows that looked into the next room. It was modeled much the same as the room Allison had held Barnes in, when they first met; half lab, half holding area. There were several machines and computers set about a restraint chair in the center of the room. Shackled under the heavy metal clamps of the chair was Barnes. In all corners of the room were armed men, keeping watch. Clearly, HYDRA was not interested in taking anything to chance and losing their perfect soldier again. Allison counted eight men in the room with Barnes. Barnes looked drugged and possibly unconscious, his head lolled back into the chair and eyes closed.

"What's his status?" Brock asked, stepping forward to the techs and folding his arms while one man brought a screen to life.

"Sedation is holding," the tech reported. "Heart rate and respiration, nominal. He's been stable for the last seven hours, Sir. He's ready for transfer to cryo freeze when the equipment is finished calibrating."

Brock nodded, glancing through the observation window toward Barnes. "Withdraw the sedation," he ordered.

"Sir?" the tech questioned, his expression striking Allison as a bit fearful.

"Withdraw the sedation," Brock repeated, turning a hard gaze back to the technician. "The Asset is to be interrogated before being transferred to cryo." He inclined his head toward Allison. "And he can't answer any questions, if he's a fucking vegetable."

"Uh, yes, Sir," the man stammered. "I, uh, just need to see the orders, Sir."

Allison stepped forward, handing him the unlocked tablet. The nervous man nodded his thanks, standing to take the device to another computer in the room. He made a couple of notes and returned to his work station, passing the tablet back to Allison on his way. He looked to the other tech, telling him to end the sedation. The second man looked at his partner, apparently just as uninterested at waking Barnes as the first man was. Reluctantly, the tech pushed up out of his chair, walked around Rumlow, and badged his way through the door to the holding room. The tech at the console worked his keyboard, while the one in the next room made adjustments to the IV pumps running into Barnes' flesh arm.

"How long until he comes around?" Rumlow asked.

The nervous technician inclined his head toward Barnes. "Not long. At the rate he processes the anesthesia, once the pump is off, 3 to 4 minutes."

Brock looked at Allison and she surreptitiously activated her comms again, keeping the mic open so the others could hear.

"3 to 4 minutes?" she repeated. "He'll be able to answer questions then, or he'll just be conscious? I don't have much time to get this done before he's transferred."

"I understand, but it's difficult to say," the tech conceded. "He will be awake, but it may take slightly longer for, uh, all of his faculties to return."

Allison nodded her understanding, crossing her arms and looking as if she had better things to do. "So, a few more minutes then," she said, seemingly to no one in particular, as she stared at Barnes.

The moment she released her mic, the argument started.

"We can't wait any longer," Rogers decided.

"We have to wait. Barnes has to come off sedation," Natasha insisted. 

"The longer we wait..." Sam added.

"There's a lot of boots on the ground, Cap. We don't have the man power to carry him _and_ fight our way out."

"We're wasting time," the Captain growled.

"Wait. Give her a chance. There's still time," Romanoff urged.

The silence that followed didn't comfort Allison. All she could do was hope it meant Rogers would standby and wait for her signal. Ahead of her, Barnes began to stir. At the first sign of movement, the weapons in the room came to bear on him. The tech worked a little faster, disconnecting the IV lines and hurrying back to the control room. There was some medical discussion about Barnes' condition, as the monitors on the console tracked and charted different telemetries on their rousing prisoner. A few long minutes later, the technicians agreed it was okay for Allison to begin.

Brock stepped aside, allowing Allison access to the door and, ultimately, to Barnes. He followed her in, waiting to hear the door secure behind them. The entrance to the room was out of Barnes' view, an advantage Allison was incredibly grateful for. She subtly stayed behind Barnes' chair, as Brock walked up to his former asset. Rumlow eyed him carefully and Allison saw Barnes turn his head to meet his gaze.

Rumlow folded his arms, scoffed at Barnes and turned to look over his shoulder at the highest ranking soldier in the room. "Sgt. Watts," he barked and the man dropped his weapon to a low ready, turning his attention to Brock.

"Sir."

"Sergeant, this interrogation is classified," Brock noted. "How many of your men are cleared level 6 or higher?"

"None, sir," Watts answered.

Rumlow nodded and paused a beat, as if he were giving the answer some consideration. "Sergeant, remove your men and yourself from the room."

"Sir," the sergeant began to protest, "for the safety of-"

"Remove your detail and standby outside," Brock ordered. "The prisoner is restrained and this agent is armed and has experience with the prisoner."

"Yes, sir," Watts nodded, giving a rally signal to his men.

Allison nodded her appreciation to Watts, with a confident smile, as he and his men filed out of the room. She made a show of  thumbing off the retention on the holster at her thigh. She and Brock exchanged a nod and he left the room. It was quiet for a moment, the last sound in the room coming from the mechanical lock re-securing the door. Allison looked to Rumlow in the control room. He was speaking to the techs and observers and, when he appeared to finish, the four men rose from their seats and exited the booth to the hallway outside.

A speaker in the ceiling came to life, as he told her, "AV is down. A replacement detail, with clearance, is on the way."

Giving Brock a nod, she took a breath and stepped around the restraint chair carefully. Noticing the movement coming into his periphery, Barnes' eyes snapped off of Rumlow and onto Allison. His gaze hardened and she could see his breathing pick up. 

"You gotta be fuckin' kidding me," Barnes growled.

Allison reset the retention strap on her weapon and looked him in the eye. "I'm going to get you out of here," she promised, "but I need you to do exactly as I say."

Above them, Brock came through the speaker again, warning, "Four minutes till the next team is here."

She nodded, opening her bag and stepping over to a counter to unpack the gear for Barnes. "Exfil is waiting a klick and half south from here," she explained.

Throwing a quick thumbs up to Brock in the control room, Allison watched him reach for one of the keyboards on the console. A moment later, she heard the pneumatic restraints release. He nodded to her again and moved to go into the hallway. Allison turned back to Barnes.

"Here," she said, throwing him the HYDRA uniform. "Put this on."

Barnes caught the clothes at his chest. He stood carefully, his right arm straightened down into the side of the chair, testing his legs and giving his head a small shake. He seemed to orient himself and looked down at the clothes in his other hand. Allison checked her watch and lost her breath.

The impact into the concrete wall was somewhat lessened by the inconvenience of having the table behind her. She should have known better. In the fraction of a second it had taken for her to turn to grab for the boots behind her, Barnes launched forward. His metal hand found her throat and the sheer brut force of his forward momentum drove her back and up over the table. He dragged her along the wall, until her toes scuffed at the concrete, toppling the table over as equipment crashed to the floor.

Allison sputtered and choked to speak. "Don't," she pleaded, feeling the redness burn into her face and her eyes water. "Barnes...wait."

Unaffected, Barnes hissed out a breath, with a feral stare as he increased the pressure on her throat. She heard the crack and felt the splintered plastic of her throat mic dig into her skin. Her mouth fell open, trying to get air. Allison drove her knee up into his gut. He barely flinched. She threw her fist up under his chin and chased it with an elbow across his jaw. She succeeded only in tearing a thin slit of red into the corner of his mouth. With the the last fight she had in her, Allison grabbed at her weapons. He was right on top of her.

Barnes slammed his fist down into her forearm, knocking it away from her shoulder holster. She put everything she had into the punch into his jaw and he stripped the pistol from the holster under her arm for himself. He thumbed off the safety and pressed the barrel between her watering eyes. There was a flash of surprise in his rage filled expression, when he registered the sound of a safety switch clicking down and the coolness of metal pressed up into the soft skin behind his chin.

He pressed the gun a little harder, pinning Allison's head to the wall. She replied by thumbing back the hammer on her weapon. Allison could barely hear the angry huffs of his breathing over the sound of her heart thumping in her ears and her own rasping wheezes for air. Barnes slowly released his metal hand from her neck, taking a measured step backward. Without his hold on her, Allison's feet found the floor again. Her knees threatened to give out on her, as she clawed at her neck, pulling the broken mic off of her, plucking out a few shards of the plastic framing, and coughing to breathe. She slumped back against the wall to steady herself, a slight tremble of adreniline and oxygen deprivation in her right hand holding him at gunpoint. He never took his aim off her head.

Allison struggled to speak again. "Barnes," she wheezed out, wincing at the pain of speaking. "Listen." A violent cough nearly doubled her over. "You don't...have time."

He eyed her suspiciously. Allison rubbed her hand over her throat, as she caught her breath and felt her skin cooling down. She swallowed a breath, sidestepping carefully, with her weapon still on Barnes, to pick up the boots off the floor. She threw them at his feet, jutting her chin as his direction to take them. Barnes glanced between her and the gear she gave him.

"At this point, I could give a fuck if you don't come with me," she managed to breath out, punctuating her displeasure at his trying to kill her by adding, "you ungrateful son of a bitch."

Allison let her arm fall to her side and thumbed the safety of her gun back on. With an exhale of resignation, she reholstered her weapon. Barnes took another moment, giving her another once over in some kind of assessment. He lowered the gun, setting it on the seat of the chair and taking up the uniform shirt. Allison nodded and grabbed the backpack off the floor. She turned and headed for the door, using her badge to unlock it and dropping the bailout bag in the doorway to prop it open.  


	36. Chapter 36

July 2013

"Hold."

The sudden up swung fist into the air and order sent the squad taking knees and bringing rifle sights to their eyes. As the agents checked their world around them for any threats, it took just a second to realize that Rumlow was still standing. Allison's eyes ran over him and the area ahead of him. There was no sound and no visible movement. Slowly, she and the others got back to their feet.

"Bingo?" Rollins questioned.

Rumlow's gaze was fixed down at his feet, his fist still tilted up at the shoulder to keep them in position. "Fuckin' hell," he grumbled, before carefully lowering his hand back onto his weapon. "Watch your feet and back it up. There's a mine."

There was a low mumbling chorus of profanities, as everyone looked down at the earth around them and Jack ordered, "Back out."

Allison hesitated, watching for a moment as Rogers and the rest of her temporary assignment teammates moved in a slow and cautious retreat. She swallowed the lump in her throat and asked, "What's it look like, Boss?"

"Can't see it. Felt the sink under my left boot," Brock answered. "Pressure plate."

"Addams," Rollins barked, as Allison shifted into the path Brock had made, carefully stepping forward in his footprints.

Rumlow turned his head over his shoulder at hearing Jack's scolding and his brow pulled down angrily. "Addams, stop," he warned.

Allison did stop, long enough to lay her rifle gently on the ground and shrug off her pack to set beside it. "Just let me have a look at it," she told him, putting up a hand to ask for his patience.

"I swear to god, Addams," he growled, "if this fuckin' thing doesn't kill us, I'll kill you my damned self. Now, back out."

Rogers and a couple of other Delta Tem members she was working with tried to call her back as well. The fuming exhale and scowl Brock gave her didn't escape her notice, but she didn't respond to it. Watching the dirt under her feet as she moved, Allison inched around to Brock's left side. She paused for a moment, considering the unnaturally flat geometric shape beneath Brock's foot. She crouched down, pulling her Ka-Bar from its sheath on her boot and began to gently dust and scrape away the dirt around the evenly sunken area.

"Addy, I'm not fuckin' around here," Rumlow whispered down to her. "Get back."

"It hasn't gone off yet," she reminded him.

"And it's gonna kill or maim both of us, when it does, if you don't get back with the others," he pointed out.

"Lieutenant," Jack called again, more insistent than before. "Get out of there. That's an order."

Allison held up a finger for everyone to wait, before she shifted to a knee and peered closer at the device she was still unearthing. "Gimme a minute," she insisted, "then you can fire me."

"Oh, you're fuckin' fired alright," Rumlow assured her, in no uncertain terms. He sighed, dropping his voice again, pleading, "Addy, stop. I'm begging you, go back."

"No, not without you," she stubbornly promised. Shoveling away a little more dirt at a time with her knife, Allison was getting a better picture of the problem. "Looks like a 'double-tap'," Allison assessed. "Old Soviet Bloc, maybe."

"Commie bastards," Brock decided, with a darkly humored smirk at the situation.

Allison snorted, nodding to herself. She moved more dirt around and had an idea, calling to Rogers, "Hey, Cap. Ya busy?"

"Not exactly," the Captain warily replied.

"Can I borrow you for a minute?" she checked.

Allison broke down a crazy idea. It was possible they had a short delay between the time the circuit was triggered and the time Brock could move and the fuse would activate. It was also possible the device was defective, either by some flaw or age. Either way, Rogers was fast and strong and, most importantly, he had his shield. There was a chance he could pull Rumlow clear and shelter himself with his shield before the fuse detonated the device. If the mine was still 'live', they had at least half a second. If they were lucky, longer.

The Captain took a deep breath and nodded. "I'm game, if you are," he told Brock.

"At this point, Cap," Rumlow chuckled, at a loss, "I'm not saying 'no' to anything." He looked down at Allison, softly asking, "Will you _please_  back away now, baby?"

Allison nodded, easing herself up to her feet as Rollins ordered every one back. While the rest of the squad retreated another 200 feet or so, Rogers crept forward. He gave Allison a reassuring nod, as they passed each other. Allison picked up her gear, walking back to join the rest her fellow agents. She was too far away to hear what Rogers and Brock said to each other, but after a short exchange they nodded in agreement of something. The Captain threw a glance over his shoulder, checking to see where everyone else was. Allison held her breath, as Rogers took a firm hold of the back of Rumlow's body armor.

There seemed to be a short count, before Rogers gave Rumlow a yank, pulling him back and throwing him behind him, as Rogers dropped, taking shelter from the mine in front of him. Brock hit the ground, on his back and covering his face with his arms, several yards from where he was standing only a moment ago. When there wasn't an explosion, everyone blinked, surprised and relieved. Rogers stood without hesitation and retreated to Rumlow, offering his hand to help pull him to his feet. Brock dusted himself off as Rogers guiding him back to the rest of the team.

"Bingo, you are one lucky son of a bitch," Jack laughed, clapping Brock on the shoulder. "And Al?" He shook his head, palming his hand over the top of her head to give it a shake. "You're fuckin' crazy."

"Yeah," Rumlow warily agreed. He reset his rifle sling on his neck and leveled his eyes at Allison. "I'm not the only one here with some dumb fuckin' luck." He raked his eyes up and down her, adding a disapproving, "You and I are gonna have a long talk about following orders, later, Lt. Addams. ...In the mean time, thanks."

Allison nodded, for both her understanding of his thanks and for his scolding. She wasn't looking forward to their talk later, but she figured it would have little to do with insubordination and have more of a personal tone to the conversation. Rollins ordered the squad around to a new route and everyone moved much more cautiously. At the rear of the group, Rumlow gave his thanks to the Captain.

"I think Al deserves the credit on this one," Rogers noted. He gave Allison a comradely push in the arm. "Leave no man behind, huh?"  

"Not on my watch," she agreed. "Not while I can do something to get the other guy home. ...Even this cranky bastard." Allison looked over her shoulder to Brock, pointing out, "This was totally your fault, you know, Boss."

"Excuse me?" Rumlow balked.

Allison slung her rifle overhead again. "Everyone knows it's bad luck to step on a landmine with your left foot," she smirked.

Rumlow flipped her off while Allison enjoyed a small laugh with Jack and the Captain at his expense. "Fuck all of you."

July 2015

In the control room, Allison's eyes scanned over the monitors. One showed the hallway outside the door. Outside, Brock stood with the men he'd sent from the room. She didn't see the security detail and the new one hadn't arrived. When she looked back into the holding area, to check Barnes' progress, the control room door clicked open.

Brock stepped in, assisting the door shut behind him with a little extra push, telling her, "You're almost out of time." He looked over to see Barnes hastily squaring away his new uniform. It confused Allison for a moment, when Rumlow asked her, "Remember how pissed off you were at me about calling you off that chase in Columbia?"

"What?" she shook her head.

"Think about that and make it look good," he told her, with a reluctant smile on his face. Brock held up a finger. "But not too good, now," he winked.

"You're coming with me, right?" she asked, her brow knitting, afraid she already knew the answer.

"Now's not the time," he shook his head. "You gotta go."

Allison's head fell unhappily to the side. "Fuck," she sighed, realizing he was right. If an alarm went up, it had to look like she fought her way out and she didn't have time to explain not getting to kill Rumlow to Barnes. "God dammit," she muttered.

Her shoulders fell, when she pulled the pistol off her thigh and he told her, "It's alright, sweetheart. I'll still love you tomorrow."

"I'm sorry," she frowned, before palming the gun around to grip the barrel, stepping to his side, and pistol whipping him from behind.

Brock crumpled to the floor of the control room and Barnes came in. He looked down at Rumlow and then to the gun in Allison's hand. She reholstered the weapon and told him to wait. Allison plucked the additional clearance badge from Brock's uniform and handed it off for Barnes to fix to his. She grabbed her bag from the doorway, tucking away the tablet. Allison went to the hallway door, opening it and asking the technicians to step back in for a minute. The men didn't have time to realize it was a trap, before they were two more unconscious heaps on the floor. She inclined her head for Barnes to come closer. When he was at her heel, she handed him the backpack, telling him to keep it safe and he slid it onto his shoulders. She opened the door again and sprang at one of the agents in the hall. Barnes made quick work of the last man and they dragged the two men into the control room. With everyone stashed, they were off, in a run down the hall as Allison worked her way back out of the building.

It was a relief when the elevator doors opened without much of a delay. In the elevator car, Allison pressed the button for the ground floor. The hallway outside the elevator was calm, as the doors opened again and Barnes adjusted his hat low on his brow. She stepped out, with Barnes falling in beside her. They didn't speak. She felt her pulse rise when they turned the corner for the heavily armed inner-checkpoint. Allison moved calmly and directly for the door, raising her badge to the scanner to open the metal doors. _Halfway home_.

Allison tapped her badge at the reader on the wall and the doors began to open, as she quietly told Barnes, "Move straight for the elevator. Don't stop for anything."

The opening doors brought the attention of the armed men outside. The guards posted at the desk were watching her and Barnes' movements on the monitors in front of them. With an acknowledging nod to the men stationed closest to Allison, she was pleased to see new faces. Apparently, they had the luck of walking out after a shift change. No one would question why Rumlow wasn't the one walking out with her. Barnes stood in front of the elevator, waiting, while Allison stopped at the front of the desk. She handed off her badge to sign out and return the extra badges and the guard swiped her card with a professional nod and smile. As she was taking back the ID, she heard the elevator doors slide open.

Allison turned for the elevator and the guard called to Barnes. "Sir, I'll need your badge to sign you out."

Barnes had already stepped inside the car. He feigned apology and made a show of reaching for the badges hanging on his stolen uniform shirt. Barnes made a hesitating move, as if he were simply being a gentleman to let Allison pass him before going back to the checkpoint. His thumb hovered over a button on the elevator control panel, as Allison moved by him. Instead of stepping out, he pressed the door closed button and shut them in before the guards could react and close the distance.

The car began to rise and Allison turned to Barnes. "There's a Jeep outside, to the right of the door."

He nodded and, just as the elevator leveled out to the ground floor, a red light flashed in the car and a klaxon sounded through the opening doors. "Fuck," Barnes muttered.

Allison was already drawing her pistol from her holster. Barnes pulled the gun he had taken off of her, out of the back of his waistband. He followed Allison around the corner and down the hallway to the front lobby. Ahead of them, a trio of armed soldiers was coming their way, bringing weapons to bare and ordering them to stop. Allison shot first, taking down the man in the middle of the small formation and shouldering herself into the wall to be a moving target as she engaged the next soldier. Barnes took down the HYDRA agent in front of him, as Allison's target crumbled to the floor in a bleeding heap. They pushed on to the lobby, having a slight advantage of surprise as they came to the remaining soldiers at the checkpoint and opened fire. Barnes followed Allison and she badged them out of the building.

Rounding the hood of Brock's SUV, Allison reloaded before climbing in the driver's seat and turning the keys left in the ignition. She peeled out of the parking space, making a run for the southeast gate. She breathed a sigh of relief when she heard Romanoff in her ear.

"Package secured. Rescue's on the way out."

Allison glanced at Barnes, trying to see if he was injured. "Are you hit?"

He shook his head, twisting over his shoulder to check behind them. "No," he told her.

"Rescue, SitRep," Natasha called. Allison couldn't answer, after Barnes had damaged her throat mic. She trusted Romanoff would figure it out, after she didn't answer the second time she called for her. "No response from Addams, Cap. Comms are dead."

"You came back," Barnes stated the obvious, his expression more than a little confused and his voice with a lingering anger still.

"No shit, Sherlock," she muttered, checking the rear view mirror.

Barnes straightened back up in his seat. "How'd you get the Jeep?"

"You don't wanna know," she assured him. Allison checked her mirrors again, as she told him, "There's a black Chevy Tahoe waiting at the southeast gate. Keys are inside. Gear and weapons are there. On the main road, head South 1.2 klicks until you hit a railroad crossing." Allison made a hard turn, the back end of the SUV skipping at the speed. "Bear west to parallel the track to the switch." She caught sight of a pair of SUVs coming up from behind with red and blue flashing lights in the grills. Base security was on to them. "When you see the switch, dump the vehicle and head southwest for .25 klicks and you'll come to a clearing. Extraction is waiting."

Barnes picked up on the hint of stress coming into her voice and checked over his shoulder again. "What about you?"

Allison was on the straightaway back to the gate and she pressed the gas pedal down. "I'll run interference for you and catch up," she told him, jerking the wheel to maneuver around a supply truck that crossed her path.

"That's stupid," he told her. "We have a car and guns, let's just go."

"I'm not done here," Allison told him and pointed ahead. "There, off to the left of the gate."

"I see it," he nodded, as Allison made a sharp turn to come around a building instead of going straight at the inspection point. "Forget the intel, Kate, and let's get the fuck out of here."

"I don't have time to argue," she persisted, sliding to a stop and jutting her chin for him to get out. "Go. The window's closing."

In her ear, Romanoff updated, "They're at the gate."

"What's your exfil?" Barnes asked, standing in the open door of the Jeep.

"I'll catch up," Allison said. "Go. Now."

In the mirror, she saw the security forces come around the building. Allison didn't wait for Barnes to argue further. She stepped on the gas and took off, sudden momentum shutting his door for him. Behind her, she caught a glimpse of Barnes ducking behind the building edge to hide. She smirked to herself, pleased, when she saw both vehicles continuing to chase her and seeming to have missed Barnes. Allison led them away from the gate and the soldiers in the SUVs pursuing her opened fire on her Jeep. She ducked as she drove, barreling through a half set roadblock of another pair of HYDRA SUVs in her path to double back to the gate.

"Barnes is in a second vehicle," Natasha said. "He's broken out of the perimeter, on route to the rendezvous."

"Are they following?" Rogers asked, as Allison skidded to a stop several yards shy of the gate's guard booth, bracing her door open with her foot and leaning out to open fire on the soldiers shooting after Barnes and his stolen car.

"Rescue's got them tied up," Allison heard, shutting her door when the soldiers at the gate took cover and turned their fire on her. She reached over and took up the rifle propped up on the floor of the passenger seat. The armored panels of the Jeep thumped and the glass cracked from the impacting rounds and a pair of loud pops told her the tires were down on the passenger side. When the passenger window finally gave in, she took aim and lit up the security patrol from her slouched position in the driver's seat. A couple well placed grenade tosses, from the stash she'd made before leaving the Quinjet, made for a good explosion, eliminating one of the HYDRA vehicles and sending the agents scrambling for cover. The driver's side of the vehicle was being assaulted by a flanking team now. With the gate ahead covered, her tires down, and HYDRA on either side of her, there was no out.

"Rescue's still stopped. The vehicle might be disabled. She's taking heavy fire, Steve," Romanoff advised, in the middle of the shootout. Allison muttered to herself, changing magazines and begging for Natasha to stay with Barnes. She could take care of herself. She barely heard Rogers give orders to Romanoff, as Allison sent three round bursts of rifle fire out in answer to the backup soldiers arriving at the gate, rationing what little ammo was left.

"Cover Barnes," Rogers said and Allison abandoned the empty rifle to the back seat and reloaded her pistol. "He's the priority. Make sure he reaches the LZ."

Time and ammo were out. Allison spotted at least a dozen men moving up to surround her when her resistance ended. She took a breath to steady herself against the adrenaline and set her jaw. From outside, a rank holding agent barked commands at Allison. She raised her empty hands into view, instinctually ducking over when the weakened window beside her was broken out. The door opened and a soldier jerked Allison out of the driver's seat, by a grab of her collar, and threw her to the ground. On her knees, she was kicked in the back to lay face down on the hot asphalt, with at least three gun barrels she could see pointed in her face as she was cuffed from behind. After a rough handed search, Allison was dragged to her feet.

The last thing she heard from Natasha, or anyone else, was, "Rescue is down. They've taken Addams." The last thing she saw was a pissed off Jack Rollins stalking up to her, before his fist found her face and Allison fell unconscious.


	37. Chapter 37

May 2014

Allison had a hard time getting to Brock. She was starting her duty rotation with her squad, the morning he came home. Allison and her fire team were dispatched to transfer a prisoner from the Triskelion to Leavenworth. The transport flight took off just as Capt. Rogers, and the rest of the Delta squad deployed with him, were landing. At least Allison assumed the Quinjet she spied through the cockpit glass was Rumlow's.

She never did find out what happened on the Lemurian Star. All she knew was, whatever happened, it kept Brock in meetings with the higher ups. After they had touched down in Kansas, she got a message from Rumlow, apologetically telling her he had to cancel their plans for dinner that night. On the drive back to the airfield, after depositing the prisoner, she responded that he owed her a rain check. The message was read, but didn't get a reply. When her 12 hour shift was up, Allison went back to her apartment for the night.

Hoping to catch up with him and talk to him about her concerns over recent events, Allison submitted a meeting request. Sitting in her office, the reply notification was almost instantaneous. She clicked on the automated message and frowned when he hadn't added any notes or an explanation.

[Request: Denied  
Status: Blocked  
Duration of Block: Unspecified]

Undeterred, she sent him a text, asking if he was free for dinner later that night, she had some things to go over with him. The message was read almost right away. The response came an hour later, telling her, again, he had "meetings" and wouldn't be able to see her. It wasn't unusual for Brock to get caught up in bureaucracy, every now and again, if something had gone wrong or there were officials to persuade or soothe. As the commander of the STRIKE Division, it was unavoidable. But it happening now did little to ease her busy mind.

A day later, Nick Fury was dead and Steve Rogers was a fugitive.

 July 2015

"Unbe-fuckin'-lievable," Rollins griped, staring down his nose at Allison.

She came around, slowly. Allison was immediately aware of the swelling ache in her jaw. Once she blinked past that and swept her eyes across the room, she knew she was in trouble. There was nothing to pull against, with her wrists shackled flush against the arms of the stainless steel interrogation chair. Her ankles were bound under the same metal restraints, with no room left to work with. In the two corners she could see ahead of her in the room, an armed sentry was posted in each.

"Hi, Jack," Allison said, tiredly, with a humorless smile. "I missed you, too."

"You think this is funny?" he checked, casually folding his arms behind him.

"Every time I see your face," she smiled, with a sweep of her head.

"You're gonna wipe that smile off your face, real fuckin' quick," Rollins assured her, "or I'm gonna do it for you." Allison caught the flex of his shoulders and chest as his arms tightened behind him and he smiled, menacingly. "You have no idea the things we're gonna do to you. You think Bangui was rough, Princess? Just you fuckin' wait."

Behind her, a mechanical lock released and a door opened and closed. Rollins' eyes ticked up to look over the top of Allison's head. He scowled, his brow wrinkling, as he watched the owner of the footsteps she heard crossing the room. Allison turned her head to see who had come in.

"The hell happened to you?" Jack asked, straightening up and turning to face Rumlow.

Brock stopped, watching Allison for a moment, at an angle to her chair. He didn't speak. Brock held a disposable ice pack to the back of his head and simply pointed at Allison, with a leveled glare, to answer Jack's question.

"You done defending 'one of your agents' now?" Rollins taunted. "I fucking told you, she was playing us."

"Yeah," Rumlow nodded. "Good for you, Jack. You want a fuckin' trophy?"

Rollins turned back to Allison. "I wanna know where the Asset is."

"Did you lose him again, Jack?" Allison feigned worry. She tutted, shaking her head. "That is _not_ gonna look good for you, come review time."

She'd take a punch in the face, any day, over a slap. An open hand stung and the feeling always seemed to linger. A fist could be shaken off. As it was, the violent slap across Allison's face, over the top of her bruising jaw, was considerably worse. She muttered a curse, under her breath, as she righted herself and set her eyes back on his, defiantly.

"Keep it up," he urged her. "This is the highlight of my day."

"Save it for later," Brock told him, giving him a pat on the back. "She can't answer questions, if she's unconscious."

"On the other hand," Allison chimed in, "whatever you think you're gonna do, you might as well get started. And put on a fresh pot of coffee. It is going to be a looong night, Jack."

Rollins bent down, putting his face in front of hers. "It won't take long," he quietly promised. "You haven't seen everything."

Allison puckered her lips to a kiss and Jack sneered, looking like he was more than a little confident in HYDRA's means of persuasion.

May 2014

"Attention all SHIELD agents, this is Steve Rogers. You've heard a lot about me over the last few days. Some of you were even ordered to hunt me down. But I think it's time to tell the truth. SHIELD is not what we thought it was. It's been taken over by HYDRA. Alexander Pierce is their leader. The STRIKE and Insight crew are HYDRA as well. I don't know how many more, but I know they're in the building. They could be standing right next to you. They almost have what they want. Absolute control. They shot Nick Fury. And it won't end there. If you launch those helicarriers today, HYDRA will be able to kill anyone that stands in their way. Unless we stop them. I know I'm asking a lot. But the price of freedom is high. It always has been. And it's a price I'm willing to pay. And if I'm the only one, then so be it. But I'm willing to bet I'm not."

Allison took a pause, her eyes fixed on the speaker in the ceiling of the locker room, waiting to see if there was more. She couldn't believe what she had just heard. But then, Steve Rogers was always honest. What reason could she have to doubt him, except fear that he was right? It almost made sense, if it weren't so unbelievable. If HYDRA was inside SHIELD, it would explain her suspicions about what had been happening to personnel in the last couple of months.

Addams looked around, making sure she was alone. She slammed her locker shut, forgetting the lock. Allison flipped her body armor back over her head, fixing the straps tight with one hand while she reached for her gun belt draped over the bench with the other. She slung the rig around her waist, hooking the buckle and cinching the band of the thigh holster around her leg. She was wearing down, in the midst of a restless 48 hour rotation, most of it spent awake on standby, for garrison duty in the Triskelion. But the Captain's speech had given her a surge of adrenaline and she ran with it, out of the locker room on the 23rd floor and toward the elevator bank at the end of the hall.

When the elevator doors opened, the car was empty. She hurried inside, pressing the 'door close' button several times and speaking her destination for the computer, "Insight bay." The elevator started to descend and Allison anxiously drummed her fingertips on the grip of her gun on her thigh. The car stopped, just a few floors down. The doors opened and Mark Haney, a 14 year career operator with Delta Team, stepped in. He gave a short nod, with a wary eye, to Allison. She gave him a small smirk in reply, as he instructed the elevator AI to take him to the Insight bay.

As he checked his rifle and sent the bolt forward, he told Allison, "Rogers isn't going to fuck this up."

"Hail HYDRA," she said and he replied the same.

Allison slammed her palm over the emergency stop on the elevator. The sudden move from her and stop of the car surprised Haney and he looked over just in time to line his chin up perfectly with Allison's fist. His head knocked aside, Haney stumbled back a step and dropped his hand to his leg, pulling the field knife from its holster there. He took a wild sweep at Allison, to open up a little distance between them, before he lunged at her. Allison jumped backward, the tip of his blade narrowly missing her middle. The elevator wall was behind her and Allison reached for her gun, juking to the right as Haney came at her again. She grabbed hold of his shoulders, as his momentum took him into the wall, and drove her knee up into his gut. The maneuver doubled him over with a gagging cough and Allison clasped her hands together, pounding them down into the back of his head.

Haney moved the knife to his other hand, lashing out at Allison again. She caught his arm under hers and pinned it to her side. She yanked, pulling him down and simultaneously sending her knee up into his jaw. She twisted, grabbing the hilt of the knife in his hand and jerking it free of his grip. She hooked her arm, running the knife into his gut. A spasm went through Haney, when she withdrew the knife and stabbed it again, this time, up into his neck. Allison held onto him, his increasing weight propped up by the arm bar lock and her fist under the knife. When she was satisfied the weight she was supporting was dead, she let him fall. Allison hit the emergency button again, sending the elevator back into motion. She crouched down, taking the rifle off Haney's shoulder and wiping her bloodied hand off on the back of his uniform.

"Emergency override," Allison panted to the AI, swallowing down a breath to settle her breathing again. "Direct use. Authorization- 1st Lt. Addams, Allison R., 78169736."

"Authorization accepted," the pleasant female voice of the computer advised.

"Insight bay," Allison directed again.

She couldn't afford to stop again. Allison didn't have a plan, but she knew Insight couldn't be launched. For what Rumlow had shown her and what she was able to review on her own, a weapons system like the Insight carriers, in the hands of HYDRA, would be devastating. She wasn't sure how, but she had to stop them. As the elevator doors opened to the upper gangway of the bay, Allison saw the flurry of activity on the hangar deck. Small teams were disengaging fuel lines and other equipment, preparing the ships to deploy, and they were doing it fast.

Making her way along the suspended walkway, Allison spotted a squad in STRIKE uniforms marching up the ramp to Insight-03. As Allison started down the metal staircase to the level below, the operator at the head of the formation raised his pistol and shot down the guards posted at the crew entrance of the helicarrier. Allison stopped, pulling Haney's rifle up to the level of her eye and opening fire on the HYDRA squad. By the time they zeroed in on her sniper's perch, Allison had wounded, hopefully killed, four HYDRA agents. She retreated, sprinting back up the stairs as bullets hissed past her and ricocheted on the railings and walls around her.  

Allison waited out a few beats of her rapid heart, pressed flat against the wall. When the bullets stopped, she did a quick peek around the corner. The glimpse she got of the hull of Insight-03 showed her the crew hatch had been sealed. She didn't see a ready way to board the helicarrier. Allison sprinted down the walkway, headed for the next set of stairs down and a chance to get onto one of the other two carriers to sabotage the launch or, at least, slow them down. She skipped and leapt down steps. The ground crews were all but gone now, either having abandoned their post without a means to defend themselves or because they were HYDRA and already onboard. Finally, reaching the bay deck, Allison made her way toward Insight-02, clearing corners around equipment and cargo and watching the walkways and carrier decks above her.

The familiar sounds of the shift of mechanics and the pop of the ignition of repulsors echoed through the enormous hangar. Allison stopped, raising her arm in front of her eyes and bracing herself against the wash of the powerful engines. She was too late. She ran her eyes down the length of the hull, looking for an opening, but the ramps had all been withdrawn and the hatches sealed. Allison yelled a curse that was lost in the noise of the repulsors warming up to full strength and began to back away from the helicarrier. She slung the rifle overhead and took off for the elevators again. She had to find help, anyone loyal to SHIELD. She had to find Rogers or Rumlow.

Back above ground, the elevator stopped at the lobby floor between the three towers, locked in place by the alarm raised in the building. Through the glass ceiling, Allison saw the carriers slowly rising from the hangars hidden beneath the river. Around her, civilian staff and agents alike scurried in all directions, while a recorded announcement came through the PA system, advising everyone there was an emergency reported in the building and asking everyone to evacuate. The hassle of navigating the extra foot traffic in the lobby to the emergency stairwell aside, Allison was pleased to hear the evacuation message looping overhead. Anyone who wasn't HYDRA or there to fight them would be out of the way. It would be easier to spot the enemy. Or, at least, slightly easier than trying to identify the enemy when the good guys and the bad were wearing the same uniforms.

Allison realized her mistake too late. As part of changing out of her gear to end her shift, she had removed the comms earpiece and mic and left them in her locker with the rest of her equipment. She made her way back upstairs. If HYDRA had control over SHIELD, they might have control of the communications array and be using it to coordinate their troops. If they did, she could listen in and exploit the information they shared. Allison quickly, but methodically, made her way back to the locker room. there wasn't time to ask questions when she encountered a pair of STRIKE uniformed agents from Delta Team in the hallway. They told her to drop her weapon and one of them said she was SHIELD when she didn't. At the same time they pulled their triggers, she returned the kindness. She stooped to grab an extra magazine for Haney's rifle as she stepped over their bleeding bodies and pressed on down the hallway.

Clearing the locker room, Allison put on her communications gear again, making a fast switch of the channels until she found one alive with chatter. HYDRA seemed to be running comms, but she found a channel that sounded like SHIELD resistance trying to coordinate themselves. Allison moved on, checking for HYDRA on other channels and found them. She listened in, as the controllers dispatched HYDRA agents throughout the buildings and she made her way back to the tower's emergency stairwell. As she listened, Allison started keeping a mental list of voices she could assign names to on the radio. If she crossed paths with one, she wouldn't hesitate to fire.

Getting shot felt like a kick in the chest. There was a sharp stab under the breath Allison hissed in as she looked down to inspect the round that had molded itself to the front of her body armor. She suspected a bruised or cracked rib, when she tried to stand from the kneeling position she'd fallen too, after she rounded the corner on a HYDRA soldier holding a post at the entrance to the 33rd floor. She knew the integrity of her vest was comprised, but it was better than nothing. And if someone was watching the door, the floor was worth investigation.

Allison crept carefully down the hall, with measured heal to toe steps. She didn't need to be surprised by anyone else. She oriented herself, realizing she was on the same floor as the Project Insight team. This half of the floor had been purposed for the designers and engineers to work and do their research and development. It housed the servers for the helicarrier systems and the command center for in-flight operations. If she could get to the control room, Allison might be able to do some damage to the carriers operating systems.

A rumble went through the floor beneath her. Allison stopped to listen. There was another shudder in the building and the sound of anti-aircraft guns firing. Allison made her way to an office on the outer wall of the tower. Her jaw slacked open at what she saw. The Insight defense weapons were active, filling the sky around the rising carriers with flack. The building shook and windows rattled with the concussions of the exploding chaff rounds so dangerously close. Someone had taken the fight to the air, seeing the Quinjets bank and roll around the carrier's in pursuit of something. She hoped whoever it was stood a chance.

Allison turned to head back into the hall and make her push to the command center to try and lend a hand. She was just checking the next turn in the hall when a loud explosion reverberated through the tower and dropped picture frames from the wall. Allison looked over her shoulder, through an open office door. In awe of what she saw, she stepped slowly to the window. Outside, the helicarriers' guns had been turned on themselves. She watched for a long moment, dumbfounded by the scene. The airships fought each other with everything they had, sending bullets and missiles into the hulls of their sisters and choking the sky with thick black smoke from the resulting explosions and fires onboard. She slowly tuned in to the angry voices in her earpiece again, hearing them say they'd lost control of the Insight systems. Allison couldn't help but snicker, until her eyes caught a worrisome list from Insight-01.

The crippled ship was drifting downward, burning alive and her repulsor engines failing. _Oh, fuck me_. Allison realized the path the falling helicarrier was on and took off down the hall again. As she ran back into the staircase, Allison abandoned the extra weight of Haney's rifle and her body armor, throwing them off of her and over the rail. She raced down, two steps at a time and swinging to leap around corners to shorten the distance. She was down to the tenth floor of Tower B, when the sound of metal screaming and concrete cracking started overhead. Allison bolted downstairs, spurred on by a burst of adrenaline that was nothing short of a miracle. She shot into the open lobby, as debris rattled on and crashed through the glass ceiling above. She slid into the shelter of the elevator bank of Tower A, just as a wall of dust and debris blew into the lobby and her ears rang with the sound of a freight train running over top of her.


	38. Chapter 38

July 2015

The lights were annoyingly bright. Of course, they were. The harsh white from overhead was meant to keep her uncomfortable, to make it hard to sleep. In a way, she missed that dingy light above her cell in Africa. At least there was a kind of subtle warmth in it, comparatively. Either way, the constant light wouldn't be too disruptive at first. The long day it took to get under that light, of convincing Rogers to follow her and getting Barnes out of HYDRA's hands, was exhausting enough to fall asleep after. The cell and bare mattress on the coil spring rack was at least clean and not entirely uncomfortable.

When it was time for her first full day of captivity to begin, it was announced by the jarring crack of a metal baton against the outside of the cell's steel door. Allison sat up with an appropriate start at the noise, roused from a deep sleep. She leveled her eyes and flipped off the unknown face leering at her through the small window in the door. The hatch opened in the door, but, instead of food being delivered, the man on the other side of the window told her to put her hands out to be cuffed.

Allison dragged herself to sit upright in the bed, giving the order a moment's consideration, before she stood and walked to the door. Balling her hands up into loose fists, she reached through the opening of the door and the guard ratcheted a pair of handcuffs over her wrists. Allison was told to step away from the door and, when she did, it opened to reveal a trio of soldiers waiting on the other side. She obeyed when they directed her out into the hallway and began a long walk through several halls that included an elevator ride.

It wasn't that she was intimidated by the weapons pointed at her or by the large men, she was just curious to see where they were going. Her first instinct was to fight her way out, but a hood had been placed over her head when she was first moved to her cell. It would have been harder for her to find her way out. She also didn't know what, if any, help Brock might have for her. After the breach in security the day before and the escape of Barnes, despite the increased forces that had been brought in, Allison figured the additional soldiers were still on hand to secure the facility and run a dragnet to try and recover him. She still had the advantage of HYDRA not knowing anyone else, especially Rogers, was involved in the rescue. Once they caught up with the SUV Barnes abandoned, they might assume he were on foot in the area.

The detention facility was, apparently, connected to the building in the east end of the compound that Allison had taken Barnes from. There were no windows in the corridors they used and, when they moved past a heavily guarded checkpoint, she began to recognize some of the features in the halls. She was escorted into the interrogation room she had woken up in after she took the raging hit from Jack. Once she was seated, the handcuffs were exchanged for shackles on the table and the guards that transferred her took up posts with the other armed men standing watch in the corners of the room.

It was quiet for a few minutes. When her quip about "this hotel's shitty room service" went ignored, Allison began to drum her fingers on the tabletop, hoping to eventually be annoying. She took a lazy look around, sizing up her adversaries and their equipment, noting the surveillance in the room, and assessing the ease and likelihood of escape. At the moment, it was best for her to wait for another opportunity; perhaps on the way back to her cell. If she made her attempt in the first minute or so of transfer, she was, at least, familiar with the floor plan of this building enough to try and make her way back outside. The rest she could improvise.

The electronic locks on the door of the room clicked open. One of the sentries nearest the door reached to pull it back all the way when Rumlow shouldered it open. He was carrying a tray of food in one hand and a mug in the other, with a tablet pinched under his arm. He nodded his silent appreciation to the soldier and set down his drink on the corner of the table. He set down the tray in front of Allison, before taking the seat opposite her and grabbing his tablet to look at. When Allison didn't make a move for the food, Brock looked up from his work to glance between her and the tray.

"It's not poisoned, if that's what you're wondering," he told her. "As much as Jack would love to see you dead, we'd prefer you tell us where the Asset is, before we kill you."

"How's your head?" she casually asked.

Rumlow pursed his lips, unhappily, and nodded. "Fuck you."

Rumlow turned his attention back to the device in his hand and sipped his coffee. Allison shrugged and picked up the fork to eat. She took a few bites of eggs and a drink of her coffee. HYDRA didn't have a bad cafeteria staff and she took a few more bites of food before Brock spoke again.

"This doesn't have to be complicated, Addams," he suggested. "This can actually go quite easily and, for the most part, painlessly for you. All you have to do is tell us where the Asset is."

Allison sipped her coffee. "His name is James Buchanan Barnes," she pointed out.

"He's an asset," Rumlow countered, laying his tablet down. "He doesn't have a name anymore, because he doesn't need one." He settled into the back of his chair and folded his arms across his chest. "Tools don't need names."

"But men do," she reasoned. "He remembers." Allison studied Brock for a reaction, but saw none. "He's not your tool anymore. He's Bucky Barnes again."

Brock shook his head, smirking at her. "He's whatever we tell him to be. He belongs to HYDRA and you're going to tell us where he is so we can get him back."

"Why would I do that?" Allison asked, ahead of another drink.

"To save your own skin," Rumlow said, matter of factly.

Pretending to give it a moment of consideration, Allison finally said, "No."

Brock sat up, leaning onto the edge of the table to stare her in the eye. "That is the only choice you've got," he insisted. Without taking his eyes off of her, he gestured for her to look around the room. "You should take a moment to consider your situation. You're not just walking out of here." He sat back, smirking to add, "Especially with Jack gunnin' after you. He's incredibly disappointed in you. I'm pretty sure you two aren't friends anymore."

"I'll be sure to give him my sincerest apology," she said, with a jut of her chin, "when I get out of here and I've got a gun to his head."

"I'll let him know what to expect," Brock snorted, "but, somehow, I don't think that'll help you two kiss and make up."

"Jack's hurt feelings are probably the least of my worries," Allison mumbled, reaching for her coffee.

"I wouldn't say that," he disagreed, "Jack is very eager to discuss his personal thoughts on your infiltration and betrayal of HYDRA. And, of course, you know I use the term 'discuss' _very_ loosely."

"It doesn't matter," she accepted. "I won't help you get him back."

"You say he remembers?" Rumlow checked.

"Everything," Allison nodded. "Your machine is broken. It won't work for you anymore."

Brock nodded, thoughtfully. "What you don't understand, Addams," he began, "is the amount of time and effort that went into making the Asset what HYDRA wanted. Efficient, effective, obedient. It took years of training and fine tuning to develop the perfect weapon."

"Years of illegal human experimentation on a POW, you mean," she corrected, pushing away her half-eaten breakfast.

"Semantics," he shrugged, rather indifferent. "The time, the money, the tech invested it this project; HYDRA is going to recover the Asset, one way or another."

"Good luck with that," Allison said, pushing away her coffee as well.

"Let me put things into perspective for you," Rumlow offered. "The little spree you went on, stealing intel and killing my men, amounts to nothing. Cut off one head, two more will take its place."

"Sounds familiar," she acknowledged, waving a disinterested hand his way. "Go on."

"Project Insight," he referenced, "was just the tip of the iceberg, the simplest plan HYDRA has. We've shaped the entire world to what we want it to be."

" _Before_ Rogers destroyed your helicarriers and exposed you to the world?" Allison wondered. "Maybe."

"After DC, we reevaluated our next step," he went on. "Rogers? You? Nobody stopped HYDRA. You didn't change anything. All you are is a minor disruption. And even that sounds like we're giving you too much credit. The fact is, it was all for nothing."

"Barnes is a free man," Allison reminded him. "That's good enough for me. And that seems to be a little more than a minor disruption, seeing as how we're still talking about it."

Brock nodded, with a tight grin on his lips, as he reached for his coffee again. Setting the cup aside, after another drink, he unlocked the tablet as he told her, "An inconvenience, Addams. A very temporary one." He was pulling up something on the device, as he went on. "I was up late last night," he told her, opening a file. "Had a lot of phone calls about you."

"I'm flattered," she smirked.

"Decisions were made," he said, turning the tablet around to show her. "Plans."

Allison shrugged, skimming over the screen to see the first page of what appeared to be a set of orders and catching her name and Barnes' repeated a few times. "Sounds boring."

"On the contrary," Rumlow airily argued, taking back the tablet and seeming to turn a page, "it was very interesting. You see, one of two things is going to happen. One, and easiest for everyone, especially you, is you tell us where the Asset is."

"Oo," Allison lit up, with mocking enthusiasm. "And then we call it even and you let me go?"

"Not exactly," Brock smiled.

"You should probably just go ahead and get on with number two," Allison dryly suggested.

"Two," he began, dropping his tone and hardening his expression, "we don't recover the Asset and call it a loss. He's becoming obsolete, anyway. We replace him with a newer model." Brock pointed a finger at the tablet. "The discussion's been had and authorization given. Either surrender the Asset or take his place."

Allison blinked, sitting a little straighter in her chair, the dragging sound of the chains clamped to her wrists over the table making the only sound in the room. "What?"

Brock nodded, his smirk seeming to enjoy that she finally understood her options. "The Russians and HYDRA spent months training the Asset, years honing him into the perfect assassin. The drugs and the machine take care of the easy part; the programming, the obedience. You'd be disappointed to know how fast they can break down a man." He flipped a hand up and raised a finger to wag at his next point, as he explained, "But the physical training, the tactics, the efficiency and methodology of killing, how to blend in and be a ghost; now that takes time. Time that, with someone like you, we don't have to waste. ...Who better to replace HYDRA's most effective assassin than Death herself?"

"It's a waste of resources," Allison balked. "You wouldn't get the same result. You could just as easily do the same to one of these idiots," she offered, waving a hand at a pair of guards. "There's no serum to make another super soldier like Barnes or Rogers that could survive cryo-freezing."

Rumlow sat forward again. "Where do you think the serum for Barnes came from?" he asked. "You think they used it all up on Rogers? That nobody else could finish Erskine's work from the war? HYDRA's been refining the serum for decades. There are five other Winter Soldiers."

Allison slowly sat back, taking in what he said. "Five?" she murmured to herself, as her eyes listed down at the horror of the thought of five more victims like Barnes.

"Five," he confirmed, as if she had asked for his clarification. "We don't need Barnes back, per se. ...We just don't want anyone else to have him."

"Jesus," Allison muttered, shaking her head.

"I'm not guaranteeing you'd survive the procedure," Rumlow told her. "I'm just sayin', give me back the Asset, or be ready to take his place."

Feb 2014

"Hey, Cap," Allison beamed, dropping into the empty seat beside him at the table.

Rogers looked up from his meal, his eyes shrinking with a discerning squint, as he finished chewing and she seasoned her food. "You look like the cat who ate the canary," he decided, jutting his chin at her. "What'd you do this time?"

Allison set down the salt shaker, a little heavy handedly, her jaw dropping with exaggerated offense. "What did I d-" she coughed out, trying to keep her smile in check. "Why I never."

"Yes, you do," Mickelson chimed in, around a mouthful of food and pointing lazily at her from his elbow with his fork from across the table. "You do all the time. You're a certified shit magnet."

She chuckled at the assessment, shaking her head. "I am no such thing," she smiled. 

"You keep telling yourself that," Eric nodded, sarcastically.

"Well, if I am," she reasoned, "it's exponentially worse when you're in proximity."

"That's...actually pretty accurate," he conceded, with an accepting shrug.

The Captain laughed, sputtering into his drink. Checking his chin with the edge of his thumb, he shook his head and asked, "So, what is it this time?"

"Nothing," she insisted. "I was just going to tell you what I did with my weekend off."

"Raunchy sexcapades for V-day with your banker bunk buddy?" Mickelson suggested, wagging his eyebrows lasciviously.

Rogers wheezed, suppressing a laugh that his shaking chest didn't hide. He busied himself with his meal, to try and stay quiet and off the radar, while Allison threw a pat of butter at Eric and said, "No, you ass." She shrugged, correcting, "Well, not all weekend, anyway." She turned back to Rogers, getting back on track. "No, I went to the Smithsonian."

"Is that so?" the Captain mused, clearly trying to play dumb, as he poked around at the food on his plate and avoided eye contact.

"Yyyep," Allison said, proudly popping the 'P' sound. "They got this new exhibit that opened up last month. You might like it."

"Oh, yeah?" Rogers distractedly wondered, before a bite to occupy himself. "Why's that?"

Glancing at Mick, Allison smiled at the thin grin he had on his face, looking back and forth between her and the slightly uncomfortable Rogers across the table. "Because it's all about you," she pointed out.

The slow bob of his head said he'd been waiting for someone to bring it up. "Yeah," he shook his head, maybe a bit shied or humble. 

"Have you been yet?" Allison asked and he shook his head. "It's great. Why not?"

Rogers put down his fork and straightened up, wiping a napkin over his mouth. Struggling to find the words, he cocked his head and raised his brow thoughtfully to say, "Because...it's a little..."

"Egotistical to worship at your own shrine?" Eric suggested.

Rogers pointed at the answer and nodded. "Exactly," he agreed. "Among other things."

"I'll go with you," she offered. "Take ya down a peg or two-"

"Or twelve," Mickelson corrected, with a snort and tick of his head in amusement of himself.

"Or twelve," Allison wickedly agreed. They all shared a small laugh and she went on. "But, seriously, it is pretty amazing. They did a real good job with it."

"I took the family, last month," Eric added, with an approving nod. "The kids loved it. She's right, it's really good."

Rogers shrugged. "Maybe before it closes," he considered. "When people lose interest and there's nobody to notice."

"Good luck with that," Eric said. 

"Yeah," Allison nodded. "The wait is ridiculous if you don't pre-buy your ticket. It's not losing steam anytime soon, Cap."

He hissed in an uncomfortable breath, with a sweep of his head. "Yeah, I don't know. The whole thing is weird."

"I got an idea," she lit up, smacking the back of her hand into his arm. "Let's go tonight."

"Tonight?" he disbelievingly repeated. "It's after 6 o'clock already. They're closed."

Allison eagerly nodded. "It's perfect," she explained. "No crowd, no fuss."

"You wanna break into the Smithsonian?" Rogers checked, wrinkling his brow with doubt. 

"What?" she shrugged. "Like it's hard."

"I'm surprisingly onboard with this," Eric admitted.

"Are you serious?" the Captain practically gaped.

Mickelson pointed at Allison again, with his fork, reminding Rogers, "Shit. magnet."

"We're not breaking into the Smithsonian to see my exhibit," the Captain decided, firmly.

"Fine," Allison disappointingly conceded, with a shrug.

It was quiet for a couple minutes, while they ate their dinner. With his attention focused on cutting his chicken, Rogers spoke up again, saying, "I gotta admit, I'm curious. How would you do it?"

Allison's mouth curled up into a wicked smile, as she twisted in her seat to face him, casually resting an elbow on the table. Eric perked up, setting down his fork and setting his eyes on Allison. 

"It's easier than you think."


	39. Chapter 39

Oct 2012

"They give you Rozafa yet?" Brock asked, giving the clothes at the top of his backpack an extra push down.

"Are they going to?" Allison questioned. 

"I told them to," he nodded. He cinched a strap on the framed pack and gave her a crooked smile. "Figured it'd be something to do while I'm gone."

"You know," she smirked, picking her feet up to stretch her legs and set her heels on top of the headboard, "most guys send their girl to a day spa with her girlfriends, or something, to keep them busy while they go out on man weekends and shit, not recommend her for an assassination that'll liberate a small nation."

Tugging the backpack off the mattress to set by the bedroom door, Rumlow sent her a wink. "Well, I'm not most guys," he noted, jutting his chin toward her. "And you're definitely not most girls."

"So, no spa day then?" Allison playfully frowned.

"Make a clean out on Rozafa," he offered, "and I'll send you on a spa day."

"How does a spa day in exchange for single handedly dismantling a corrupted government sound like even a remotely fair trade?" she demanded, grabbing a pillow off the bed and taking a swipe at him when he picked up his phone from the nightstand.

"Fine," he shrugged, checking his phone and pointing a no-look finger her way to warn her from hitting him with the pillow again, as he spoke. "I'll buy you a cup of coffee in the cafeteria."

"Easy there, Scrooge. Don't start spoiling me, now," Allison groaned, rolling her eyes and folding the pillow under her head, as if he didn't actually already spoil her.

Brock snorted his amusement with her, shaking his head, as he went down the hall to his office. Allison stretched with a yawn, pushing her socked feet into the wall above the bed and sighing, satisfied, when it was over. She was supposed to have the weekend off and had a couple of days scheduled to speak to the class of new agents SHIELD was training. A chore that got pawned off by five other operators with more seniority that trickled down to her desk. Most notable among the senior staff was Rumlow and Rollins, who had wiggled their ways free to go on their annual fishing and hunting trip in Montana with four other Delta operators. Those bastards always seemed to talk their way out of something every October, but this was the first time Allison got stuck picking up the slack. When her phone went off, buzzing beside her on the mattress, she smiled at seeing the activation notice on her lock screen and the attached briefing notes on Rozafa.

"Got it!" she yelled for Rumlow to hear her down the hall.

"D'it come through?" Brock asked, rounding the corner back into the room. He pointed at her, throwing in a halfheartedly disapproving, "Get your feet off the wall, you heathen."

"No," she playfully flipped him off. Allison held up her phone to show him the abbreviated dossier open on her screen. "Gosh darn it," she jokingly sulked, snapping her fingers, "looks like I won't be able to do your presentations at the academy after all. That's a damned shame."

Rumlow snuffled a laugh. "I can see how broke up about it you are."

"Devastated," Allison nodded, smirking as she sent back the acknowledgment of her orders. She lifted her chin, bending her head back into the mattress to watch him walk around the foot of the bed to the closet. "Did you do that on purpose?"

"Do what?" he frowned.

"Give me Rozafa to get me out of the academy days, because we're dating?" she elaborated, as she turned over onto her stomach to watch him move around the room.

A crooked smile tugged back the corner of his mouth and he pointed a finger back at himself. "Who me? Do that? Nahh. Purely coincidental." Rumlow ducked into the closet for a pair of boots, telling her, when he straightened back up, "Let me know when you get it done and you're stateside again."

"It's probably gonna be 4 or 5 days," she figured, "for us to get in country, get the recon in, and execute the order. ...I'd hate to interrupt your man-cation."

"Cute," he smirked, sitting down on the corner of the bed to put on his hiking boots. "Call me anyway."

"Are you sure?" Allison checked. "I don't want to upset your wife."

"My wi-?" he scowled, over his shoulder at her. "Don't start."

"Jackie," she smiled, poking a finger into his side.

"Very funny," he said, dryly, swatting her hand away, as she giggled. "You know, he'd deck ya, if he heard you call him that."

"You just make sure she's not screening your calls, okay?" she teased, rolling back over and kicking her feet up the wall again.

"Keep it up and I'm gonna tell him what you're saying about him," Brock warned, knotting his laces. "And he's just starting to like you."

"Jack doesn't like anybody but himself," Allison scoffed. "Well, and maybe you."

"Jack can be an asshole, I'll give you that," Rumlow nodded, "but you _are_ actually on his good side. He just likes bustin' your balls because you're on Echo. If you were Delta and with him everyday," he shrugged, "I think you'd see the difference. He keeps a small circle of people. You've worked your way into it."

Allison bent her neck again to see him. "Jesus Christ," she muttered. "If this is his good side..."

"Exactly," he chuckled, shaking his head. Rumlow looked over at her and scowled, pointing again and reminding her, "Feet."

Allison shook her head, defiantly crossing her arms at her chest. Brock yanked the pillow out from under her head and Allison folded her arms over her face to shield herself when he stood up and threw it back down at her. Her feet came off the wall, as she instinctually balled up to defend against his shot from the pillow. Rumlow knelt into the bed, folding himself over her to cage her in, as she turned to her side into the mattress to hide. When he didn't continue the attack, Allison peeked past her elbow to see him smiling at her and shaking his head.

"You're gonna be the death of me," he assured her, brow high and smile wide, his head shaking at his point. "You know that, you stubborn little brat?"

Allison twisted, unfolded herself beneath him and snaking her arms around the back of his neck to kiss him. When she broke away, she winked, "But you'd go with a smile."

July 2015

For the first time she could remember in her career, Allison was afraid. It was all compartmentalized in training. Fear was overcome by exposure to the cause. Hesitation was replaced with knowledge, confidence, and determination. Allison was trained to know what the body can withstand. She had already lived through so much; captivity, psychological and physical torture, broken bones, and more. It was all a hazard of the job and she had become comfortable living with that. But the thought of enduring what Barnes did, of being a slave to HYDRA and unable to fight back, of losing her memories and herself was a fear Allison had never had to consider before and she didn't know how to beat it.

All of her training and experiences, throughout her career with the Army and SHIELD, made her a perfect candidate to replace Barnes. According to the world, Allison Addams was already dead. If she couldn't escape, no one would come looking for her. There was no Rogers to save her the way Barnes had been saved. She didn't know how to read Brock. There was no code or signal in the interrogation room. There was no hint that a rescue or help was coming and she had begun to worry, finally, that there was something solidifying his loyalty to HYDRA instead of her. Returned to her cell, her confidence more than a little faltering from Rumlow's threat to turn her into the new Winter Soldier, Allison considered she was on her own again.

An hour later, Allison lifted her head from where she rested against her arms on her knees. The door to her cell opened and Rollins stepped in. Rumlow followed behind, stepping aside and leaving Allison the view of the armed guards outside the door. The door stayed open, while Jack eyed her over. Allison set her jaw, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of finding any sign of the anxiety twisting her gut.

"It's decision time," Rollins evenly announced. "What's it going to be, you or Barnes?"

Allison took a breath, steadying herself for her answer. She had helped Barnes and gotten him back to Rogers. Despite what Rumlow said, she knew she had been more than a minor disruption to HYDRA. If she was indeed at the end of her self-assigned mission, she was satisfied that she had done all she could. She wouldn't trade Barnes to save herself. Allison had accomplished plenty and lived a life she was proud of. Barnes had been through enough and it was his turn to live.

"Tell me I get to watch them break you in two," Jack taunted.

Ready to resign herself, Allison stopped, mouth opening to speak, as a ringing phone interrupted her. Her eyes snapped over to the source of the sound, watching Brock reach into his pocket to answer his phone. Jack turned as well, one eyebrow raised in curiosity.

Brock connected the call. "Rumlow. ...Yeah. ...We're looking at her right now." Rumlow's eyes met hers, as he listened for a moment to whoever was on the other end of the line. "I'll call you back." Jack looked at him expectantly and he answered the question in Rollins' expression, saying, "Command, waiting for an update."

"What do we get to tell them?" Rollins asked, turning back to Allison and gesturing his arm out to reference the call Brock just took.

"Go fuck yourself, Jack," Allison told him.

"So, that's a 'no'?" he disdainfully smirked.

"I won't tell you where he is," she promised, with a small sweep of her head.

The smile that spread across Jack's face looked like it was borrowed straight from the Devil himself. "That's okay," he assured her. "I know you think you're still doing the noble thing here, protecting him for whatever reason, but you'll tell me. When we're done putting your brain in a blender, you'll tell me anything I want you to." He shifted a foot forward to lean on, bending to stare her in the eye and roughly grabbing a fistful of her hair at the back of her head. His eyes shifted between hers and she could feel his breath on her skin, as he menacingly growled, "I'm going to enjoy every second of you screaming and begging me to just kill you."

"Whatever gets you off, Jack," Allison told him, "you pathetic piece of shit."

"Every. second, Princess," Rollins reiterated, before he straightened up and let her go, with a casual smack on her bruised jaw.

"You're wasting your time," Rumlow said to Jack, with bored aggravation in his voice. "She doesn't give a shit."

"She will," Rollins decided, with a jut of his chin, heading for the door. "A thousand bucks says she'll give him up in the first hour."

"We'll find out tomorrow," Brock noted.

Allison followed Jack out the door with her eyes, stabbing a leveled glare at the back of his head and letting her anger start to show. It was a couple seconds before Rumlow moved, turning for the door behind Jack, only after Allison had shifted her gaze to meet his while he walked.

"Knew you wouldn't give him up," Brock scoffed, quietly. "You're too predictable."

"Guess loyalty means something to me," Allison said, with an arrogant cock of her head, taking the stab and indifferent to provoking him.

"Loyalty?" Rumlow scuffed to a stop, pivoting around to see her again and stepping over to the corner of her bed. He stared angrily down his nose at her. " _Loyalty_?" he questioned again. "Is that it? Like the loyalty he showed you, running the first chance he got and leaving you behind to _this_?" His voice dropped a level, his eyes running between hers. "Is loyalty what he gave you these last few months?"

Allison bristled at the insinuation. "He didn't give me anything," she hissed. "He was my friend and he left because I told him to. Because I told him I'd be right behind him. Not because he abandoned me."

Rumlow studied her a moment, before saying, "You're mouth has gotten you into enough trouble for one day, don't you think?" She followed his pointing finger down from at her to his side, where he tapped on the cell phone in his pocket once. He crimped his fingers to flash her the 'coercion' hand signal, adding, "You might wanna consider shutting the fuck up and sitting still for once, Addams."

Rumlow walked out. The door closed, the locks clanked shut, and Allison slumped back into the wall along her bunk. She didn't know how long she had to hold on, but she would wait for the next sign, like Brock had told her to.

March 2014

"I did it."

"Now what'd you do?" Allison asked, feigning disappointment and looking up over the toes of her crossed boots on top of her desk to see Captain Rogers come in the open door.

Rogers gave her a self-deprecating smirk, his head ticking back in amusement, as he took a seat in one of the open chairs in front of her desk, leaning his elbows onto his knees. "Nothing like that."

"This time, anyway," Allison teased, digging her spoon into the plastic MRE pouch in her hand for the last bite of food.

"Whatcha got there?" he asked, brow creasing down with distracted curiosity.

Turning over and pulling the spoon from her mouth, Allison swallowed and answered, "Beef stew."

"Good one. But it's 6:30 in the morning," he chuckled.

Allison shrugged. "Got in like an hour ago. Tried to eat on the ride back, but my _non-combatant_ ,” Allison curled her fingers in the air as quotation marks for sarcastic emphasis. "got a little froggy. Had to give up on food for the flight to keep an eye on him." She checked her watch. "And that was, like, at 11:30. So, I figured, 'fuck it' and saved it for breakfast."

"You been to sleep yet?" he worried, a wrinkle coming back into his brow.

"No," she shook her head, as it rested into the back of her chair. "Have to see the boss at 7 about all this, anyway. It's already been 28 hours. What's a couple more, right?"

"Aww, Al," he disapprovingly tutted. "You could'a at least caught a nap in here."

"Tried," she admitted. "A little too amped up. It was a rough ride."

"You alright?" Rogers checked, eyeing over what he could see of her.

"I'm okay," she smiled. "But you didn't come in here to talk about me." She wagged her brow up and down, suggestively, asking, "What did _you_ do last night?"

Steve smiled and shook his head at her, settling back into his chair with a comfortable slouch. "I went to the museum," he told her.

Allison perked up a little, a mischievous grin on her face. "D'ya break in or buy a ticket?"

"I bought a ticket," he said, giving her a look that said she should have known better.

Which she did. Allison dropped her booted feet to the floor, swiveling to one side and settling back into her seat to rest the side of her jaw against her fist. "What'd you think?"

The Captain took in a contemplative breath, with a subtle nod, as he studied the floor in front on him. "You were right. They did a good job with it."

"Well, that's...kind of vague and noncommittal," Allison smiled, patiently.

Rogers snorted, looking up at her, sheepishly. "Yeah," he nodded once. "I know. It's just- ...It's weird, you know? I don't know what I expected, but, at the same time, I'm still trying to take it all in. If that makes any sense. It definitely...brought back some memories."

Allison nodded her understanding. "Sgt. Barnes, the Howlies, Agent Carter..."

"All of it," he agreed, with a small sigh. "They had a whole section for Bucky, a film with Peggy..."

"I'm sorry," Allison frowned. "I didn't think about it like that."

"I should have known," he conceded, his eyes drifting to his hands folded in his lap, "but I just didn't, until I saw it. I didn't think it'd make me miss it all so much. Kinda made me wonder, if I could, would I go back and do anything different? If maybe I'd just done something different..." He swept his head. "But, even if you want to, you never can go back. You can't change the past."

"I can imagine," she quietly considered. "So, how about you? You alright?"

He looked up again, flashing her an appreciative smile and nodding. "I'm okay. Thanks, Ally." He shrugged, waving his hands open in a sign of futility. "You know, actually, it was so crowded, I didn't even really get to see everything."

"Are you going to go back?" Allison wondered. "See the things you didn't?"

Rogers seemed to consider the idea. "Yeah," he nodded, after a moment. "I think I might."

"Let me know, when you do. I'll go with you," she offered, with a kind smile. "I'll hold your hand, like the kids on school field trips...if you want the company."

He pointed a warning finger her way, with a stern gaze. "You have to buy a ticket," he insisted.

With a bark of surprised laughter, Allison held up her hands in innocence. "What?! I haven't broken in anywhere in, like, _two_ _months_ ," she insisted. "And that was for work."

The Captain smiled, shaking his head, as he chuckled. "A likely story."


	40. Chapter 40

January 2013

Allison pulled the door shut behind her, stopping for a moment to shiver at the sudden cold and tug her pea coat closed to button. Her frozen breath suspended her profanity in the air, as she walked down the steps at the end of the deck and down into the small yard at the back of Rumlow's townhouse. She inched her chair a little closer to the fire pit, before finally settling in.

"Come to beg for your money back?" Rollins teased, pulling the cigar out of his mouth.

"I wouldn't beg for anything from you, Rollins," she smiled back. "It was a good game, though. I'll get you back next time."

"You coming back for more?" Emery checked, from his seat across the fire.

It was the first time Allison had made it to poker night. The idea had been tossed around, more than once, but schedules and sorties had delayed her accepting Rogers' invitation to join them several times. She didn't win tonight, but she put up a good fight.

"I can take it," Allison assured him, with a laughing nod.

"She can come back anytime," Jack nodded. "I don't mind taking money from a girl."

The group of card players had a laugh, Allison included. Rogers stood up, with an arch in his back to stretch. He finished off the last long drink of his bottle of beer.

"You outta here, Cap?" Rumlow asked.

The Captain nodded. "Got some things to take care of in the morning."

Brock put up his hand for Rogers to shake. "Alright," he said. "I'll see ya on Monday."

Rogers nodded again and turned to Allison, saying, "It was nice to finally see you at the table, Ally. You gonna make this a regular thing?"

"It's up to you guys," she shrugged. "Don't want to upset your delicate atmosphere of testosterone."

"Hell, you probably got more testosterone than Jack does," Mickelson quipped.

"Fuck off," Rollins griped, reaching down to shovel a handful of snow and throw it Eric's way.

Emery and Mick stood as well, prompting Brock to question, "What, you're all quittin'?"

"The wife's pregnant again," Eric reminded them, clapping the snow Rollins threw off his coat. "If I'm not home before 2, she'll be pissed. And I'm not sleeping on the couch while she's still putting out."

Emery jerked his thumb toward Eric, explaining, "And I'm this bitch's ride."

"You ladies be careful getting home," Jack smirked into his beer.

Rumlow stood, twisting his beer down into to the snow to stay cold. "Hold up a second. I'll get that disc for ya, Mick," he offered, leading the way back inside.

The departing trio waved and called their goodbyes. Allison and Jack were left at the fire. When she rubbed her hands together to warm them near the flames, he snorted and shook his head. He twisted the burning cigar in his mouth and Allison gave him a curious look, as if she'd missed something.

"Aw, what'sa matter?" he pouted, blowing out smoke. "Too cold for you, Princess?"

"Princess?" Allison parroted. "That's the best you got, Rollins?"

He shrugged, his laugh stifled by the drink he swallowed. "It suits you," he told her.

"How on earth...?" she led him on, shaking her head and holding her hands out wide to invite an explanation.

"Look at you," he said, gesturing at her with the cigar in his hand. "You work so hard at being a bad ass and not just a pretty face, climbing up the ladder. The only other female agent with a better rep than you is Romanoff. So, until you dethrone her, you're stuck being the princess of the castle."

"You're fun when you drink, you know that?" she winked, picking up her beer from the snow covered ground and tipping it his way as a toast.

"You have no idea," he promised, giving her a wicked smile and hoisting his drink in reply.

"So, what do you call Romanoff then?" Allison wondered.

"Romanoff," he answered, matter of factly, as if it should have been obvious.

Allison's smile broadened. "Well, ain't I the lucky one."

Jack shrugged, giving the joke some consideration. "Actually," he decided, "yeah." He got up, dropping his empty bottle in the trash can and pulling a pair of fresh drinks from the cooler on the deck. He passed one off to Allison and took up residency in one of the empty chairs beside her.

"Thanks," she told him, finishing the last drink from her old bottle and setting it aside.

"You're not too bad, Addams," he admitted. "I mean, you're not good enough for Delta," he said, with a sarcastic frown and shrug, "but you're alright."

Allison laughed, twisting the cap off her new beer. "Okay, now you're just fucking with me," she insisted. "You've never been this nice. What do you want, Rollins?"

Jack chuckled, shaking his head. "Nothing," he assured her. He gave her a discerning look, before giving her an easy smile and telling her, "And my friends call me Jack."

Allison smiled and nodded into her beer, happy to hear from Jack himself what Brock had told her months ago. She'd won his approval. The back door opened and Rumlow came back outside. He dropped into his chair and picked his beer out of the snow, looking suspiciously between the pleased expressions on Allison and Jack's faces.

"What have you two been up to?" he wondered aloud.

"Nothin'," Jack smiled, glancing over at Allison.

She flashed a quick smile to them both and shrugged. "Nothin'."

July 2015

The waiting was unbearable. The uncertainty was trying her patience. Allison was a planner. She saw A to B and the next point and on. But she had no mission outline, no team, no resources. At this point, she was waiting for a mistake, an opportunity to take advantage of, but one hadn't come in almost 26 hours. The more time that passed, the harder Allison knew it would be to get out. But HYDRA was taking no chances.

There were always well armed sentries on hand. The only time her door had opened was for Rollins and Rumlow to come in, almost six hours ago. Since then, only the narrow hatch had opened in the door to deliver her dinner and retrieve the tray and dishes. No one spoke to her, outside of the terse commands for her to follow to get her meal.

The light was still on, burning bright and constant, and Allison eventually became aware that the temperature in her cell had dropped several degrees. She wasn't given any blankets and the short sleeves of the HYDRA uniform tee she'd worn to get into the installation and free Barnes did little to ward of the new chill in the air. It was all part of the game. She knew they wouldn't give her any extra clothes or a blanket, if she even wasted the time to ask. Despite her mental pep talks, captivity was starting to make her uncomfortable, leaving a constant unsettled feeling in her stomach and making her hyper-aware of every subtle sound outside her cell door.

If she wasn't before, Allison was beginning to resent her current situation. She began to doubt if she made the right decision to not run with Barnes instead of coming back for Brock. Allison shook the thought from her head, convincing herself she had to be patient, that she wasn't wrong. Underneath it all, the Brock Rumlow she knew was still there. He had to be. He would keep all the promises he made; to take care of her, to keep her safe. She had to believe that or she had no hope, and hope was the only thing that keeps a prisoner motivated to survive.

Allison was left alone for the night. With the light on overhead in her cell, she managed to fall asleep with her arm draped over her eyes. It wasn't a completely restful sleep, though. Allison slept light, tuned in to every noise and disturbance outside her cell. Sleep came in spurts; maybe 10 or 20 minutes, here or there, but it would have to do. And she was thankful it wasn't deep enough to dream. The last thing she needed was a nightmare or flashback, only to wake up a prisoner all over again.

When the guard outside slammed a baton into her door to rouse her, Allison was already awake. Instead of the hatch opening to deliver breakfast or have her present her hands to be cuffed, she was ordered to stay where she was and not to move. The cell door unlocked and a team of masked HYDRA soldiers entered. Allison sat up, putting her back to the wall.

Following at the rear of the six man squad was Rumlow. Brock pulled a tablet from under his arm, moving into the small, concrete room as he tapped the screen and the guards essentially cornered Allison where she sat on her bed.

"Allison Addams," Brock announced, before looking up from his screen at her, from behind the wall of men. "Unless you've had a sudden change of heart, it's time to proceed. For the last time, tell us where the Asset is."

"No," she shook her head.

With a nod that said he expected nothing else, Brock looked back at his screen. "From Command," he noted, to his soldiers. "With Prisoner Addams' final refusal, you are hereby ordered to take control of Prisoner Addams and escort her to the infirmary, where she is to undergo preliminary testing and medical work up prior to being transferred to Dr. Yates and his staff. Prisoner Addams is a high risk escape attempt prisoner and will be kept under constant armed observation. Any refusal by Prisoner Addams to submit to any part of the testing, treatments, or procedures will be overcome by force. Is that understood, Sgt. Mickelson?"

Allison's gaze ran over the masked faces of her escort detail, settling on the hazel eyes staring back at her over the covered mouth that answered, "Yes, Sir."

"Addams," Rumlow began, tucking the tablet away under his arm and folding his arms casually behind his back, "I would recommend you do exactly as you're told, from this point on. Sgt. Mickelson, have your men secure the prisoner for transfer to Medical."

Mickelson gave a nod toward Allison and a pair of men stepped forward. One pulled her to her feet with a jerk of her arm that looked more forceful than it was. The other soldier took hold of Allison's hands behind her back, clamping them together in his to loosely ratchet on a pair of hinged handcuffs. Before he let her go, the guard pressed a key down into her palm with his thumb. Allison closed her hands and held onto the key tightly.

July 2013

"Hey, Boss," Allison grimaced, when the other end of the call was picked up. "In a bit of a situation here."

"Situation?" Brock questioned. "How the fuck can you get in a _situation_ on your way home from training?"

"Ohh, believe me, it's possible," she assured him. "The State of Virginia's finest are running a sobriety checkpoint."

"You guys haven't been off long enough to be drunk," he noted, sounding less than thrilled already. "You left here barely twenty minutes ago. Who mouthed off to the cops?"

"Nobody, surprisingly," Allison admitted. "Not yet, anyway. The thing is, they've got a dog out at the post and-"

"Oh, fuck me," Rumlow sighed.

"Yyyep," she nodded, taking a look over her shoulder at her cohorts lined along the dividing wall of the roadway, looking inpatient and stubborn. "So, turns out Fluffy is crossed trained for explosives and I've got a couple of real go-getters here," Allison waved sarcastically to the two troopers standing nearby, "who don't grasp the concept of national security."

"What'd you tell them?" he asked.

"Who we work for and we're headed back to DC from training," she explained. "They've got an issue with nobody having any ID on them except SHIELD's and a supervisor out here threatening me with a warrant to get in my weapons vault because the dog hit on it, if I don't open it for inspection."

"A warrant?" he balked, half laughing. "You explained to them you-"

"I've explained everything," she insisted. "Cap explained everything. I think the only reason we're detained and not in cuffs is because he's with us. It's one big pissing contest out here."

From the other end of the call, Allison heard him sigh. "I was _this_ close to heading home to meet you for dinner," he complained. 

"Sorry," Allison sympathized.

"Not your fault, darlin'," she heard him smile. "Is that your vehicle or ours?" Brock checked.

"SHIELD's," she answered. "Part of the requisition yesterday."

"Shit. Do _not_ open that vault," Rumlow ordered.

"Do I look like a fuckin' idiot?" Allison scoffed.

"Ping your location," Brock grumbled. "I'll decide what you look like when I get there. Ten minutes, tops."

"Roger that," she sighed, rolling her eyes, as she sent the ping from her phone. Allison turned back to the waiting authorities, telling them, on her way to rejoin her fellow spies, "My supervisor will be here in about ten minutes to sort this all out."

"Did he sound pissed?" Mickelson checked, eying the trooper who was peering in the open hatch of the SHIELD SUV at the weapons vault again.

"I wouldn't say pissed at _us_ ," Allison considered, with a shrug. "But 'less than amused' sounds like a good way to go."

"This is the last time I hitch a ride home with you guys," Rogers quipped, shaking his head and folding his arms.

"Us?" DiAmoto laughed. "If Captain America can't talk his way out of trouble, it can't be just us."

"So, what'd he say?" Eric wondered.

"He'll be here in less than ten," Allison told them. "And not to open the stash."

"Because you look like a fuckin' idiot?" Mickelson snorted.

"That's what I said," she smirked.

As promised, Rumlow arrived almost precisely ten minutes later. And he did it with style. The doors had been removed from the MH-6 and Rumlow slid out of the cockpit to step off the skid and drop to the ground while the black helicopter was a good three or four feet above touching down in the cordoned off portion of the highway for the checkpoint to operate. Dark lensed aviator sunglasses on and his hair pushed around by the prop wash, the uniformed commander made quite an imposing impression, as he marched forward to meet Allison and the troopers who moved to intersect with them.

"Gotta admit," Allison smiled, "that entrance makes you look pretty hot."

"Save that thought for later, sweetheart. It's time to work," he told her, his face falling from a flirty smile to a stern frown, as the troopers arrived. Rumlow looked over the two men, settling his sunglassed gaze on the man with the brass on his collar. "Sergeant," Brock addressed him, professional and cool, "what seems to be the problem here?"

"And you are?" the sergeant lead him.

"Commander Brock Rumlow, STRIKE Division, SHIELD," he answered. "These are my operators, on their way home from a 38 hours training exercise, and I'd like to know what the hold up is."

"The hold up, sir," the trooper pointedly began, "is our explosives detection K9 hit on this vehicle, indicating your people are transporting unspecified ordinance without permit or precautions. None of these people is able to properly identify themselves, outside of your agency credentials."

"Not even that guy?" Rumlow smirked, pointing at Rogers, who was watching with the others from across the road. "He didn't show you the shield?"

The trooper looked and sighed, clearly unamused. He turned his attention back to Rumlow. "This woman," he said, gesturing to Allison, "says that she's in charge of this... _squad_ and responsible for the transportation of any items contained within a secured weapons vault in the back of this vehicle, which she refuses to open or provide any documentation of its contents or her authority to move said suspected ordinance."

Brock tipped his head down to read the shiny nametag on the troopers chest over the top of his sunglasses. "Sgt. Leer, is it?" he checked and the man nodded. "I assure you, Lt. Addams is authorized and qualified to handle and transport any items that may be contained within that safe. So says SHIELD, the ATF, DOD, and Congress. She is _not_ , however, authorized to share the contents of that vault with you, or anyone else outside of her agency, under any circumstances. Now, I understand your concerns and the reason for detaining my men, but we'll be carrying on without submitting to your inspection."

"Sir," the trooper straightened up, squaring himself to Rumlow, "are you aware that I can detain you and your men for 24 hours, seize this vehicle, and obtain a warrant to-"

"Sergeant," Rumlow interrupted, "before you finish that sentence, I'm going to have to insist you take that phone call."

"What phone call?" the Sergeant balked.

Another officer walked up, tapping the Sergeant on the shoulder, holding up a cell phone. "Sarge, it's the Major."

Confused, the trooper looked between the phone and Brock, who nodded for him to take the call. "Your supervisor is going to tell you the same thing I just told you. If you're unsatisfied with his answer, or you wanna try your luck at pushing the issue and getting that warrant, you might have a minute to catch Secretary of Defense Caddell, before he goes back into his meeting with the Joint Chiefs. But I'll give you a heads up, he wasn't a fan of being called out of it the first time for this."

The trooper inhaled deeply, before putting the phone to his ear. "Major Perry, this is Sergean- Yes, Sir. ...No, Sir." Brock folded his arms and shared a stoic look with Allison for a long moment, while they listened to the increasing sound of irritation in the trooper's voice. "Sir, the K9 alerted to- ...The Governor? ...Understood, Sir." The Sergeant disconnected the call and looked disapprovingly at Rumlow and then to Allison. "You're free to go," he told her, gruffly. He pointed at Rumlow and added, "And get your bird off my highway."

"We'll be outta your hair in a minute, Sergeant. I just need a word with my people," Brock nodded, with a smug grin. He followed Allison to the edge of the highway, where Rogers and the rest of her teammates slid off the concrete wall or stood a little straighter, looking eager to hear what happened. Rumlow pointed a finger across the group. "Only you fuckers could get pinched by a bomb dog at a DUI checkpoint."

"We make you proud," Mick smiled, "don't we, Boss?"

Rumlow's finger swung back to Mickelson. "Fuck all of you, so hard," he said. "You know I called the Hill for you idiots?"

"No shit?" DiAmato gaped.

"Yeah, no shit," Rumlow said, jutting his chin. He turned to Rogers. "And _you_. Captain America couldn't talk his way around this one?"

Rogers laughed and hung his head with a shake. "Not this time, apparently."

"Now I gotta write this up," Brock complained, putting his hands on his hips and giving an unhappy scowl to the group. He settled his gaze on Allison. "I've gotta fly back to the range for my vehicle. You better be waiting in my office the minute I get back."

"Yes, Sir," Allison muttered, rolling her eyes behind her sunglasses, knowing their dinner plans were officially ruined by paperwork.

"I'd recommend taking a different route home, Sir," Eric smiled. "Troopers have traffic backed up with a sobriety checkpoint on the highway."

Everyone snickered and sputtered, trying hard not to laugh. Brock quirked up an eyebrow in challenge and simply pointed his finger at Mickelson's face. "Oh, yeah, smartass?" Mick shrugged, innocently, and Brock looked at Allison, still pointing at Mick. "Why is it always you two getting into shit and ruining my night?"

"I have no explanation for that, Sir," Allison admitted, trying to suppress her grin.

Rumlow pulled a set of keys from his pocket, tossing them at Mickelson. "Take the loach back. I wanna hear my ride's in my parking space in 30 minutes. Capiché?"

"Aw, man," Eric whined, while everyone else broke into laughter. "30 minu- That's literally impossible! ...God dammit."

Brock circled his hand above his head to tell the pilot to start the rotors again, as he headed for the front passenger seat of Allison's SUV.

"Well," Rogers shrugged, clapping Eric on the shoulder, as he walked past him to get back in the SUV with the others, "at least _we_ all thought it was funny."

"Not a fucking scratch on it," Rumlow added, giving Mick one last warning finger.


	41. Chapter 41

July 2015

  
Allison left her cell, turning into the hallway, stacked in the middle of the prisoner transfer squad. By her count she had three allies- Rumlow, Mick, and the unknown guard who slipped her the key. She would bide her time, just a little longer, until she knew who else to trust or she was given the next signal or direction. The detail moved along through the corridors of the detention center to an elevator, with Rumlow bringing up the rear. It was a short ride in the car, but before the doors opened again, Brock spoke up.

"Whoever survives this, we'll do introductions later," he said, eyes fixed on the rising numbers on the display above the control panel. "Until then, mission priority is to extract Addams to the rally point, at all costs. None of this works without her. Understood?"

There was a chorus of confident 'yes, Sir's and Allison looked around her. Brock had pulled together a team of men he could trust. She would have to trust them, as well. Allison read the adrenaline fueled focus in the eyes of her saviors and took a deep breath, readying herself to keep up with them and for whatever came next. The elevator opened and the escort proceeded.

Moving out of a checkpoint, Rumlow ordered Allison's detail to ready their weapons as they were preparing to leave the secure building. A pair of soldiers took hold of Allison's arms on either side to keep control of her, as they would any other prisoner. The group waited in front of the next elevator, while the guard at the desk recalled the car for them and returned a duffel bag he had apparently been asked to hold for Brock. As they stepped into the elevator, Mickelson quietly said to Allison, "Key."

Dropping the key from her palm into her fingers, Allison maneuvered the handcuff key into the lock. The first cuff was off in an instant and, by the time she had her hands in front of her to unlock her other wrist, the elevator doors closed and Rumlow was handing gear to one of his men. Eric took the cuffs from Allison, sticking them into his belt with a wink at her relieved smile. A soldier handed Allison a new uniform top, that she hastily pulled over her HYDRA short sleeve shirt and tucked in. Allison slung a gun belt around her waist, just as the elevator slowed to a stop.

Allison tugged a black balaclava over her head, to be identical to the rest of the soldiers in the car. Rumlow was just securing the Velcro of his vest, with a final press over his side, while Mickelson and another guard quickly fastened the sides of Allison's armor around her. The rest of the team took their time exiting the elevator to give them a few more seconds. Brock shouldered the now empty duffel, adjusting his mask to sit comfortably over the bridge of his nose, as everyone fell into step to move down the hallway. No one stopped them or gave them a second look as they strode right out the front door of the detention building and into the dull pre-dawn light.

Outside, Rumlow pulled open the back door of a blacked out SUV and cocked his head for Allison to get inside. She slid across the backseat and Brock shut the door behind him. One of her unidentified escorts took the driver's seat and another joined him up front. The rest of the team climbed up on the Tahoe, standing on running boards and holding onto the rails along the roof as the driver pulled away. Rumlow reached into the cargo area behind his seat and pulled up a rifle and helmet for Allison.

As Allison adjusted the chinstrap of her helmet to fit, Brock checked the view from all sides out the windows and explained, "Base security has been lowered to SecCon 3, which means flight line is open again for sorties, etcetera. There's a training exercise set for departure in seven minutes at oh-610." Rumlow turned his attention back to Allison, giving her uniform a thorough look over, as he went on. "A squadron of little birds is headed up north for air assault exercises. This team is assigned two of the helicopters. Once we're airborne, we'll break away from the rear of the formation and head west to link up with exfil."

"We've got transport," Allison noted. "What do we need exfil for?"

Rumlow threw a cautionary look behind them. "It's part of the trade," he said, sweeping his gaze around the windows to check on his team and lifting his own tac helmet to put on. "You in exchange for safe passage and immunity for these men."

Allison looped the sling of her rifle over her head, asking, "This is a defection?"

"Exactly," Brock nodded, checking his watch.

"Who brokered the deal?" she pressed, seeing a half dozen helicopters lined up on the tarmac coming into view ahead of them.

"I did," he told her, tossing the empty duffel bag away behind him. "We're here. Just keep your mouth shut and stay close to my six."

"Who's doing the recovery?" Allison questioned, as the SUV rolled to a stop.

Rumlow laughed, shaking his head. "You wouldn't believe me," he promised, popping open his door as soon as the men on the rail beside him were clear.

Allison got out of the vehicle and fell into step just behind Rumlow's shoulder. Mickelson walked ahead of the others, moving to intercept the operations officer, while the defectors dispersed themselves between the two waiting helicopters. As they passed by unchallenged, Allison heard Eric making some joke about getting held up at the armory by some confusion with a requisition order. With a sympathetic curse about the guys minding Supply from the airfield handler, Mick was sent along with a warning that they almost missed clearance to fly. Mickelson jogged to catch up with the others, as Brock was doing a quick walk around inspection of their helicopter.

"Gamble's running preflights on yours," Rumlow told Mickelson. He inclined his head to Allison, telling her, "Hook into the door."

Allison climbed into the side of the helicopter, securing herself into the tether to ride in the open door. Behind her, another soldier did the same. Rumlow climbed into the pilot's chair of Allison's helicopter and turned down the handle to lock in his door. Allison traded her ballistic helmet for the one in the aircraft, like the rest of her makeshift team. As she adjusted her microphone in front of her masked mouth, she listened to the control tower authorizing the squad for departure and each pilot down the line acknowledge the air boss.

"India Foxtrot 1-5, copy," she heard Eric say.

Immediately after, Brock confirmed, "India Foxtrot 1-6, copy."

Around them, the blades of the propellers began to spin on the helicopters and turbines whined to full power. The little birds lifted off gently, hovering a few feet off the ground, as the pilots lined up to the easterly departure route the tower assigned them. One after the other, the small attack helicopters took off in a line toward the rising sun. Once the squad was cleared of the base's airspace, the column of helicopters shifted north, toward the heading of their training grounds.

Mar 2014

Allison spent her lunch break at the range affixing a new scope on her rifle. Still sitting on the firing line, she cradled the weapon in her lap, while she made adjustments. She gave up on proning out on the mat on the long concrete pad, opting to check her work from a seated or kneeling firing position to save time getting up and down. The rest of the squads shooting today were under the wide, open air shelter, laughing and shit talking, while they ate the food they'd cooked on the large charcoal grill near the range control building.

Pulling her legs back and crossing her ankles, Allison took aim, supporting the rifle across her knees. She sent a trio of rounds down range. She picked her head up, her mouth pulled disapprovingly to one side, when she saw the holes in her target we're off their mark and she felt a hint of movement in the scope mount. She shook her head and took off her hearing protection, hanging her ear muffs around her neck. Allison picked up her tool to make another adjustment to the mounting.

"Lost your touch already?"

Allison snorted softly, not bothering to look up from her work. "Why don't you head down range and find out for yourself?"

"Here," Jack said. "Trade ya."

Allison looked up over her shoulder to see Rollins handing down a plate to her with one hand and holding his free hand open. She debated giving him her rifle for a moment and he impatiently flicked his fingers back into his palm, insisting with the impatient rise in his brow from behind his sunglasses. Allison sighed and handed up her gun. Jack gave her the plate and took a knee beside her.

"Poisoned?" she checked, peaking underneath the bun to see the toppings on her burger.

"Only one way to find out," he suggested, tweaking a screw on a small bracket.

"Cheers," Allison smiled and bit into her sandwich.

"It'd kill you to eat with the rest of 'em and do this later?" Jack asked, giving her a side eye look. 

Speaking around the food in her mouth, Allison told him, "Wanted to get this zeroed in first. I'da caught up in a few."

"Interrupting my bullshit time," he grumbled. "Making me wait on you hand and foot, so Bingo won't bitch about everyone getting a break and staying on schedule."

"Knew you didn't _actually_ care," Allison chuckled, nudging her elbow into his side, "you self-serving bastard."

"Pain in my ass," Rollins mumbled, taking a look through the scope. He straightened up and held the rifle out to Allison. "Put down your sandwich, Princess, and see if that's better."

Setting her plate aside, Allison dusted off her hands and put her ears back on. She grabbed the weapon and Jack pulled up his own ear muffs from his neck. Allison aimed and took a shot. Her bullet found the target's center and she was satisified that the new scope was tightly in place. 

"You're welcome," Rollins sarcastically preempted, taking off his hearing protection, as Allison laid down her rifle and took off hers.

"I'd have finished it myself in another minute, before you came along," she pointed out, as Jack folded a leg under him and sat down, reaching out to examine the old scope lying on the mat beside Allison. Picking up her plate again, she added, "But thanks."

"Don't mention it," he smirked, with a nod. Rollins let out an annoyed groan, when Allison shifted and leaned her back against his. "Comfortable?"

"Not bad," Allison shrugged.

Jack set down the old scope and asked, "What'd you change it out for, anyway?"

Answering around a mouthful of food, she explained, "Bad seal. Noticed it fogging up last week in Bolivia."

"Weather down there'll always give it away," Jack reasoned.

Allison's head tipped forward, with the unexpected weight of Rollins' head on the back of hers. Swallowing her food, she snickered, "Comfortable?"

"I was, till you opened your trap," he quipped and Allison could feel the subtle movement in his shoulders from his quiet laugh. "You're cuttin' in to my nap time."

"Walked all the way over here to bring me lunch?" Allison mused. "Poor thing. You deserve a rest."

"Exactly," he agreed, obnoxiously pushing back into her for a couple of seconds to stretch out his legs. "Now, shut your hole. I've got 20 minutes left and I intend to take them all."

"You think I'm gonna sit here for 20 minutes while your ass-"

"Hey," Jack cut in, bumping an elbow backward into her side and settling his head onto her shoulder. "You started it."

"Fine," Allison consented. "But I'm telling everyone we slept together and it was the most boring experience of my life."

Rollins snorted. "If you were that lucky, 'boring' would be the last word you'd think of."

"Mhm," she hummed, chewing her burger, with a smile. "Whatever you say, Jack."

May 2015

Allison opened the motel room door, slipping around the edge and scanning the lot behind her as she entered. She knew there shouldn't be anyone there, but it didn't stop her cumpulsion to check. After all, Barnes had Rogers and a friend seemingly always on the hunt for him and she and Barnes weren't making friends with HYDRA. The long exposure of her morning run was a risk, but she was carrying a lot of stress with her lately and the hardness of the concrete beneath her feet let her beat it down a little.

The work she was doing with Barnes, getting on Brock's trail, the lack of routine and the abundance of uncertainty; it was starting to wear on her and the nightmares hadn't gone away. She needed the run. Such a little piece of what used to be normal that she took for granted. In her old life, she ran every morning in her DC neighborhood. Now, here, in this pinspot town with barely a dozen traffic lights, seventeen miles from a HYDRA base the citizenry didn't even know was there, Allison felt like she had stolen a piece of herself back. A three mile run, with her iPod and the damp morning air, and, for a moment, she was Allison again. Until her path looped back to the motel and she remembered she had to be Kate.

"There you are," Barnes sarcastically grumbled. "Where the hell you been?"

"Went for a run," she told him, turning the locks on the door and wiping sweat from above her eye with the heel of her free hand.

"Yeah, I can tell," he nodded, running his eyes down her in her shorts and sports bra. "You shouldn't disappear like that. Not without comms or letting me know where you'll be."

Allison puffed out her cheeks, blowing out a breath as she waited for her glass to fill under the bathroom sink. "Spur of the moment thing," she shrugged, staring at herself in the mirror for a moment, before starting on her water.

"Spur of the moment doesn't work anymore," Barnes said, from his spot leaned into the bathroom doorway. "At least take a burner with you."

"What's the big deal?" she asked, in the pause she took for a breath before finishing the second half of her glass of water and refilling it. "I used to run 3 every morning before work. I was careful."

"I'm sure you were," he conceded, turning against the doorframe to let her by him, "but if you'd been made or gotten into any troub-"

"Are you really going to give me a damsel speech?" Allison checked, cocking up a doubtful eyebrow.

"Hardly," Barnes snorted, shaking his head. "But we've just gotten into sync here. If we get split up, I'd be starting from scratch again and we've made too much progress to lose traction now. This doesn't work the same without you." Barnes smirked, adding, "I get out of the shower and I thought you might'a ditched me."

"Don't worry about it," she assured him. "I can take care of myself. And I don't have any plans on ditching you in the near future."

"Comforting," he nodded, in jest. Barnes sat down in a chair at the small table in the room, going back to cleaning the broken down pistol he had been oiling when she came in. "I saved you some breakfast," he noted, giving a no look incline of his head toward the dresser, "in case you weren't dead or captured. It might still be warm."

Allison sat down on the edge of her bed, unlacing her running shoes and looking over her shoulder to see a fast food paper coffee cup and to-go bag set in front of the TV. "Thanks," she said, flashing a small but appreciative grin his way, "but I'm not hungry."

Looking up at her through his brow, as he ran a brush through the gun barrel in his hand, Barnes insisted, "You just ran three miles and you didn't have anything before that. You should eat."

"I'm okay," she promised, standing up to pack her shoes away in her duffel bag again.

"I'm not askin'," he told her, setting the bore brush and barrel aside. Barnes got up and grabbed the bag and coffee, holding them out as Allison turned back around. "You're not sleeping well, you're eating less." She started to open her mouth to argue, but he pushed the bag into her stomach and cut her off. "In the car, on the floor, or in the next bed; I see you at night, when you have those nightmares. I see everything, Kate."

Begrudgingly, Allison took hold of the bag and coffee. She made it a point to roll her eyes over hard, as she reiterated, "I'm okay."

"Whatever you say, sweetheart," he shook his head, sitting again and scooting his chair up to the table edge to get back to work. Barnes stole a look up, as Allison unwrapped her breakfast sandwich. "You remind me of him."

"Of who?" she invited, her brow rising in curiosity, as she took the lid off her coffee for a taste.

"Of Steve," Barnes told her, his gaze focused on beginning to reassemble the gun he had parted out on the tabletop. "He's stubborn like you. Doesn't think he needs anyone's help. Never did. Never let people take care of him." With the slide reassembled, he racked it back onto the frame and did a pair of fast function checks as he went on, telling her, "It's alright to take help, Kate. It's what friends do. They look out for each other, even if the other is too stupid to know they need it."

"We're friends?" Allison chuckled.

"Well," Barnes shrugged, reloading the gun's magazine and chambering a round, before setting the pistol aside to break down the next one for cleaning, "if you forget that whole trying to kill each other thing the first few weeks after we met, yeah. Why not?" He sent her a smug grin when he saw her put a hand to her mouth to keep from smiling while she ate. "Look, Kate," he said, his face sobering again as he dismantled the slide and barrel, "we're all each other has...for now, anyway. We gotta stick together."

Allison nodded her understanding, as she washed down her bite with some coffee. "Roger that."


	42. Chapter 42

Jan 2013

"Fuck's sake," Brock complained, with a hint of laughter behind it. "You gotta be crazy." He threw his cards into the center of the table and showed his raised palms. "I'm not that stupid. I'm out."

"Fortune favors the brave," Allison thoughtfully mused, chips rattling down to the top of Brock's dining room table in a column between her fingertips, as she considered the cards under her other hand and the ones on display on the table. Sliding the stack of chips into the pot, she nodded, "I'm in."

"Somebody's holding a pair already," Rogers decided, thumbing up the corner of the hole cards in front of him with a contemplative hum.

"The way these idiots are betting on the flop," Brock snorted, "they both are."

"I'm not paying to find out," the Captain said, folding his hand. "This is all on her."

"Sucker," Rumlow called Allison, under his breath and with a smirk, as he leaned back into his chair and folded his arms to watch.

"Too rich for my blood," Emery shook his head, pushing his cards away.

"Pussy," Jack snorted. "Looks like it's just you and me, Princess."

Peeking at her cards again as the turn came, she quipped, "In your dreams, Jack."

"You mean the one were I take all your money tonight," Rollins checked, quirking up a brow, as he threw out another bet, "and you walk outta here in shame?"

"You live in a fantasy world," she shot back, seeing the bet.

The others at the table chuckled along with the gamblers. The river came and Allison realized she was holding four of a kind. Her poker face held up and she waited for Jack to bet. The other players saw a few possibilities in the cards on the table.

"Who's got it?" Mickelson wondered aloud.

Jack pushed out his bet, confidently answering, "I do."

"I can't wait to see this," Rumlow smirked, putting his hand to his chin to scratch at the stubble there, leaning into the edge of the table as Allison increased the bet.

"Raise," Allison announced, pushing out another stack of chips.

"Glad I'm not in this one," the Captain shook his head, before taking a long drink off his bottle of beer.

"I think we all are," Brock agreed, when Rollins saw and raised again.

The move gave Allison pause. She bit her lip, pulling the side into her mouth, as she considered what she could be betting against. There wasn't a chance he could beat her. Allison wrapped her hand over the rest of her chips and added them to the pot.

"All in," she said, riling the table up into a combination of worried and disbelieving profanities.

"Are you fucking kidding?" Mickelson laughed, palming his hand over his head.

"We've only been at it for, like, an hour," Brock pointed out.

"Might be the fastest night we'll ever play, at this rate," Rogers realized, with a laugh.

"Reckless, Al," Rollins tutted, pushing in the remainder of his chips to answer her bet. 

"Ballsy, kid," Brock said, with a slow nod. "Real ballsy."

"Ladies first," Jack invited, jutting his chin toward Allison.

"Then by all mean, sweetheart," Allison teased, puckering a kiss his way.

"The suspense is killing me," Eric griped, waving a hand at the table. "Flip the damned cards."

They did it together. Allison flipped over her pocket 8s. Jack showed his cards, laying them out to show his pair of kings and the full house they made. The table roared in surprise and Jack's face fell when he saw Allison's hand. Allison smirked, reaching out to rake in her chips, purposefully slow.

"Son of a bitch!" Rollins complained, hitting his fist onto the table.

"No shit," Brock marveled, shaking his head and chuckling.

Rogers seemed stunned to silence, offering his hand for Allison to shake, as he swept his head, looking a little in awe. Mickelson had a hard time containing his laughter at Jack's reaction. Allison smugly sorted and stacked her chips. Rollins pulled out his wallet.

"This is bullshit," he muttered, throwing some bills onto the table. "I'm buying back in."

"You want to go to the trouble of getting chips," Allison began, looking up at Rollins from the corner of her eye, "or do you just want to hand me that cash now?"

Jack was not amused, pointing a stern finger Allison's way, meant to silence her. She snickered, trying to hold back her smile and it coaxed a head shaking grin out of Rollins. 

"Everybody checked their guns at the door, right?" Brock joked.

Emery was already doling out the next round of chips for Rollins, when Rogers suggested, "Maybe we should cap bets next time."

"And miss out on Jack's breakdowns?" Allison worried.

"Keep talking, smartass," Rollins nodded, arranging his stacks of fresh chips. "We're just getting started. I'll have you on your knees an' begging for mercy by the end of the night."

"Oh, Jack," she smiled. "You flirt you."

"I don't even mind if I lose," Eric shrugged. "I'll just call it the price of admission to watch you two go at each other all night."

"They keep it interesting," Rogers nodded, with a crooked smile. 

"You know," Emery began, as he dealt the next hand, "you two would make a cute couple, if you didn't hate each other so much."

Rogers and Allison both almost spit out their beers. Allison shook it off, with a loud laugh. The Captain wiped at his chin and Rumlow tried to stifle his laughter, as Rollins assured everyone, "It's not hate. It's friendly competition." He studied his cards, before adding, "Just because I can't wait to see the little princess here fall on her face doesn't mean I wouldn't help her back up...when I finish laughing at her, of course. I do owe her one."

Allison nodded with a smile, reaching over to pat a hand over Jack's. "Two, now, actually. And it just kills you, don't it?"

"A little more, every day," he jokingly sighed, shaking his head. 

"What'd you do?" Eric pried, as the pot was settled. 

"We borrowed Addams to extract an asset she'd recruited back when she was in Clandestine Services from an destabilizing region, in what, March of '12?" Brock squinted at Jack and Rollins confirmed it with a nod. "We got the asset secured, but the exfil went south when the feuding religious sects butted heads earlier than anticipated. The team got boxed in when the fight washed into the streets. Had to hump it out to the rendezvous on foot." Brock raised the bet, finishing up saying, "They mistook the team for government forces come to quell the trouble and some s.o.b., perched on a rooftop with a Barret, starts taking potshots at Jack and our asset; pins 'em down, while we were trying to move to cover. Addams got the angle and took him out."

"Potshots is a gross underestimate," Rogers recalled, laying down his cards to show his winning hand. "He was pretty good with that rifle."

"But Al was better," Rollins smirked.

"The point is, this game would be a lot more enjoyable, if it hadn't been for her," Rumlow concluded, with a sarcastic grin pulled into the side of his mouth.

"I'll give you twenty bucks," Mick bribed, "if next time you just let him get shot. Just one in the ass, or something. Please?"

The table laughed again and Allison shrugged. "Gotta do better that twenty, man. This is my livelihood we're talking about."

"Nice to know you at least don't work cheap," Rollins noted. 

"You're priceless, to me, Jack," Allison said, giving him a wink. 

"Alright," Rumlow griped. "Deal the cards before I get diabetes from all the love in here."

July 2015

Heels of her boots hooked onto the skid of her aircraft, Allison watched the ground pass swiftly beneath her. She closed her eyes for a moment and savored a deep breath of the damp morning air and breeze pushing around her. With a lean out of the side of the open doorway, Allison observed their place at the end of the straight formation, presuming the helicopter ahead of them was still Eric and the others. Allison settled back to rest her shoulder and head against the bulkhead. She had always liked flying in open sided aircraft, something she had missed in recent years as SHIELD ops had her flying long durations in jets. This ride was even sweeter, knowing it was taking her to freedom.

It had been several minutes of flying time, the landscape changed from the hilly forest around the HYDRA compound to a dense wooded area split by creeks and small lakes. The sun was creeping over the horizon and the helicopter began a slow pitch to the west. A quick peak through the cockpit windshield showed the black helicopter in front of them making the same turn away from the rest of the training squadron. From up front, the copilot looked back over his shoulder, yelling over the noise of the air in the cabin and engines above for them to switch to channel 4. Allison made the adjustment and tuned in to the conversation.

"India Foxtrot 1-5," Rumlow hailed. "How copy 4?"

"5 by 5, Boss," Eric answered.

Whoever mirrored Allison in the other door, spoke up, "Sqaud is continuing on route."

"So far, so good," Brock muttered. "Alright, listen up. This is the official point of no return. 1-5, come west another 20 degrees. Open it up and start trimming those treetops. Stay below 100 feet to confuse radar. We have another six minutes of flight time. Harris, advise if you pick up any chatter about us gone missing. 68 seconds to diversion."

"What diversion?" Allison asked, watching the landscape smear by as the helicopters opened the throttle and started their low run.

"A little unscheduled demolition," Eric gleefully chimed in.

"Explosives planted at the perimeter near the detention center," the man behind her explained, "and in the building. A decoy escape attempt."

"I hate flying blind," Allison spoke up again. "You gonna read me in on who's doing the exfil, Boss?"

Rumlow did his best to twist over his shoulder and see her, when he answered, "Rogers and his team."

If he could see all of her face, Allison figured Brock would probably laugh at the confused look she wore beneath her mask. "Are you fuckin' kidding me?"

"No," Brock chuckled, turning to face front again. "And save the rest of your questions. I want the channel clear for anything from Harris."

Allison bit her tongue, staring, disbelievingly, at the back of Rumlow's head. He was right, she had questions. How did he get ahold of Rogers and how did he get him to agree to this deal? She wanted to hear the specifics of the transaction, too. The man behind her spoke up and Allison assumed he was Harris.

"Pilot's get back on 1," Harris warned. "Controller's redirecting around weather. IF1-3's confirming."

Allison looked over her shoulder, as Harris cupped his hand over a secondary earpiece wired into a handheld radio set to monitor the helicopter squadron. He caught Allison watching him and gave her a thumbs up, confirming on their breakaway channel that Brock and Eric were fast enough and the new flight plan had been acknowledged by all pilots. Harris checked his watch and noted for everyone that there were fifteen seconds left. Rumlow and Mickelson retuned to the channel and Harris counted down the last five seconds from his watch.

"2...1...Perimeter detonation," Harris advised. He listened intently for a long moment, before adding, "Comms are lit up like Christmas, Sir. Base security and Fire dispatched. ...Facility lock down. ...Flight Line is recalling India Foxtrots. Pilots confirming."

"1-5 maintain channel," Brock ordered. "Continue to rendezvous. Harris, keep us posted."

"Air Boss is calling for 1-5 and 1-6," Harris said, turning his head down to listen. "Two calls, no reply. ...1-3 has advised they have no visual of us. ...Little birds are returning on the original flight path, orders to check for wreckage. Radar is checking and Command is being notified of our two missing helos. ...Ground command is still scrambling units to secure perimeter and evacuate the detention center. ...We're good so far, Sir."

While Harris called out updates on the chaos Rumlow and his team had caused, Allison leaned her head out the side of her aircraft, watching the sky behind them for any sign of pursuit. In her headset, Rumlow advised they were still four minutes out from the rally point, at top speed. Allison was still a little dumbfounded to be meeting Captain Rogers for help. He had been a hard sell to get his help to rescue Barnes. Rumlow had to be a hell of a salesman to get him onboard with helping Allison.

"India Foxtrots advising, no signs of wreckage," Harris said into his mic. "They're calling it AWOL. ...Air Boss is scrambling a search. ...Still no positive contact from radar. Little birds are fanning all points to search and a pair of Quinjets inbound for troop transfer are being diverted, as well."

"If one of the jets catches a scent," Mickelson worried over the channel, "we can't out run them in these."

"Maintain heading," Brock reiterated. "We've got a good lead. Gamble, any idea where those jets are coming in from?"

"Should be the transfer to Site-128," a new voice advised over the radio. "They'll be coming up from the southwest, Sir. If they're on time, it could be a problem."

"Roger that," Rumlow unhappily replied. "Mickelson, pull it back some. Follow my lead. We're gonna run this road at your 2 o'clock. Nice and steady, watch for any overhead lines."

"Nice and steady. Got it. Thank god, I didn't have that second cup of coffee this morning," Eric replied.

Allison watched as the nose of the helicopter dipped and felt the wind soften as they slowed. They were navigating an empty road, only two lanes and a narrow median wide. On either side, tree boughs bent back against the prop wash, as the two small helos navigated the civilian roadway barely twenty feet from the ground. Allison couldn't recall a time she fly with Rumlow at the controls, but she felt strangely confident about this, by all measures, unorthodox and reckless flight.

She knew better than to think, let alone say, anything to jinx the plan. But right about the time anyone else would be feeling good about their escape, the relative silence of the channel was broken by a call from one of the Quinjets tasked with searching for the missing aircraft. Allison looked to the cockpit, as she listened.

"India Foxtrot 1-5, India Foxtrot 1-6," the jet hailed. "Inactive Flights 1-5 and 1-6, this is Whiskey 2-1 calling on all freqs. Do you copy?" Allison shifted in the doorway and shared a look with Harris, as the radio continued. "IF1-5, IF1-6, do you copy? Whiskey 2-1, transmitting on all freqs. India Foxtrot 1-5 and 1-6, respond."

There would be no response. With the search teams hailing the missing helicopters on all frequencies, they would be listening to the same. Rumlow and Mickelson would have to remain radio silence. Harris leaned out to half-stand on the skid on his side of the helicopter, sending hand signals back to Eric's helo behind them, passing on Brock's shouted order for everyone to keep their eyes open for any other aircraft and that they were two minutes out from the rendezvous. Allison grabbed hold of the bulkhead in one hand, stepping out onto the skid beneath her for a better view. Behind them, Allison saw soldiers stepping out to spot the skies from their vantage on the next helicopter. All she could do was hope they spotted HYDRA before HYDRA spotted them.


	43. Chapter 43

July 2015

"You ever gonna talk about it?"

Allison swallowed her breath, holding it down to calm herself. "What?"

Sitting at the table, in the room blacked out by the motel curtains, the flickering glow of the small television outlined Barnes. He waved a lazy finger her way, rephrasing, "Those nightmares of yours. You ever going to say what they're from?"

"No," Allison told him, quiet but decided.

In the dim light from the TV, Allison looked over herself in the bed, flipping the blanket to lay flat after she had apparently kicked it away. She tucked some loose hair behind her ear and leaned back to lay down again. It took her a moment to be comfortable. Her eyes were set on the ceiling, listening to the faint laughter from the audience of whatever show Barnes was watching with the volume turned down low. She didn't think sleep would come back anytime soon and curiosity got the better of her.

"What are you watching?" she asked, turning her head on her pillow to see him where he sat in the angled light of the screen.

"Saturday Night Live," he answered. "Couldn't sleep. Want me to turn it off?"

"No," she shook her head. "It's okay." After a minute she wondered, "Who's hosting?"

Barnes seemed to think for a moment for the name. "Alex Baldwin."

"Alec," she corrected, with a small smile at the effort.

"Right. Alec," he muttered and nodded, as if he were filing away the information.

"It's Thursday afternoon," Allison noted. "Obviously a repeat."

"Seems to be a marathon or something," Barnes shrugged.

Allison sat up, reaching for the sweatshirt at the foot of her bed. Pulling it over her head, Allison stood, pushing her arms through the sleeves as she walked around to the table in the motel room. Pushing the empty chair around, Allison sat down, hugging her knees up to her chest and setting her heels on the edge of the chair. She rested her chin on a knee and watched TV, snickering at the 'best of' episode.

"He's always a good host," she observed, not quite sure if she was just thinking out loud or talking to Barnes.

A commercial came on and the TV went mute, as Barnes set down the remote on the table and said, "They say it's not healthy to hold shit in like that."

Figuring she knew what he meant, but hoping she was wrong, Allison played along, asking, "What's that?"

"They say it helps to talk about it," he repeated. "PTSD they call it now."

"I know what they call it," she said, attention still set on the silent screen.

"I'm no doctor," he noted, "but I'm willing to bet that's what your nightmares are; that they're from your scars."

"Lucky guess," Allison grumbled.

"The people you mentioned," he pressed on, "that you said did that to you. You called them a HYDRA competitor." Turning her chin on her knee to see Barnes, Allison rolled her eyes over at him, with a disapproving sigh. "I don't know of any other group operating on that scale. Who are they? They new?"

" _They_ don't matter anymore," she assured him, trying to dissuade him from any further questions with her unwilling expression. "They're dead."

"All of them?" Barnes checked.

"Enough of them," Allison impatiently sighed.

"SHIELD's not in the revenge business," he observed, the comment still trying to lead her on.

"I didn't say who did it, did I?" she muttered.

"Did you do it?" he asked, considering her in the pale light of the television.

"I couldn't do it," she begrudgingly admitted. She paused a beat, quietly adding, "But I wanted to."

"Steve tore down an entire HYDRA work camp and prison in Annazo to rescue me," Barnes noted. "He was willing to fight me to the death, if it meant me remembering him and who I was. He didn't owe me anything. He was willing to do all 'a that, just because I was his friend. I imagine you must've had some friends willing to do the same for you."

"You could say that," Allison conceded, turning back to watch the show, despite the lack of sound.

"But they're not here now," he reminded her. "It's just me. You've helped me out. How come you don't let me to do the same for you? You don't trust me, by now?"

The room was quiet enough to hear the subtle hum of the old tube television working. Allison stared, unblinking, at the images on the screen. She could feel the weight of his stare on her, but refused to acknowledge it by looking at him. After a minute, the sound was back on and the silence of the room was replaced with the laughter of the audience in the show. Allison watched until the end of the episode. When it was over, she got up without a word and climbed back into bed. As if he was waiting for her to finish using the glow of the TV as a nightlight, Barnes turned off the television after she was still. Beside her, Allison heard the soft creak of the mattress, as Barnes got into his own bed. There was a small sigh of relaxation from him and the room was silent again. In the dark, she still had no luck falling back to sleep or pushing the memories from her dream aside.

"Pneumonia," she finally said. "That was the worst. If you can believe that. ...I had two broken fingers on my left hand, a fractured orbital socket, three cracked ribs, sternal fracture, underfed and dehydrated, more cuts and bruises than I could count. ...Apparently, I, uh- I inhaled some water. Hazards of waterboarding, you know? It was cold and damp, in- ...in my cell and I got a touch of pneumonia. It made me cough. ...When I coughed, it felt like every bone broke again. Every. single. time. They had me, for eighteen days. I was laid out for awhile after I was freed. I had pneumonia for about a week...and, somehow, that was the worst part of it."

There was a pause, before Barnes asked, "What did they want from you?"

"I don't know. " Allison let out a small, humorless snort.

"So, that's what you see," he surmised. "Those eighteen days?"

"Something like them," she admitted. "I got all the usual treatments; the psych and pain, the deprivations. All of that, and sometimes the imagination still thinks it needs a say. As if what actually happened wasn't good enough."

"Jesus, Kate," he breathed out. "I'm sorry."

"Not your fault," she said, the shrug in her voice and shoulders evident in the dark.

"Maybe not," he accepted, "but if I had a shot at 'em, I'd cut every last one 'a those bastards down for you."

"Not your fight," she told him.

"You're my friend, Kate," Barnes reminded her. "Any one fights you, they fight me."

"Is that how it goes?" she mused, the corner of one side of her mouth ticking up.

"That's how it goes," he assured her.

July 2015

"Air Boss has five more jets up," Harris yelled up to the cockpit. "India Foxtrot 1-2 headed west, Whiskey 2-1 and 2-2 tracking northeast, five miles ahead. Search flights designated Sierra 1-1 and 1-2 are spreading west by southwest and west by northwest. We got a lot of company coming our way."

"Let 'em know to prepare for incoming," Brock called back, over his shoulder, and Harris sent the signals.

Allison thumbed off the safety of her rifle. She straightened her legs into the skid and leaned back onto the deck, locking herself in for any unexpected maneuvers. Her eyes panned the sky, looking for anything, even a fast glint of something in the rising shine of the morning sun. In her headset, Whiskey 2-1 continued to try and raise the stray little birds. Just as the radio operator let go of the channel to listen for a reply, Allison caught sight of a Quinjet cruising slowly overhead.

"Contact!" she warned, tipping back into the cabin to be heard and pointing out ahead. "10 o'clock high."

Brock nodded that he saw, telling Harris to send back a warning to the others. Allison muttered a curse to herself, her eyes tracking the path of the jet. She eyed the rocket pod fixed off the body of the small helicopter. Their aircraft had the advantage of agility, but was devastatingly outmatched for weaponry and speed against Quinjets. The loaches were outfitted with 14 missiles a piece and the rifles the soldiers carried. She shook her head, considering this might be the most mismatched fight she'd ever been in. 

Looking back up and out, she found the jet in the view out the far side of the cockpit. While she was turned around, she shifted her attention to Harris, waiting to see if he was intercepting anything that told him they'd been spotted. Harris turned his head down, trying to hear against the wind in the cabin. His head snapped up to look out from his side of the aircraft.

"Whiskey 2-1's got us," Harris called out. "She's coming around wide at our 4 o'clock. ...Sierras are supersonic to intercept. Less than 2, Sir."

"Whiskey 2-1 calling India Foxtrot 1-5 and 1-6," the hail came through everyone's headsets. "India Foxtrots, return to base immediately. Come about to 0-9-0 and acknowledge on channel 1. IF1-5, acknowledge. ...IF1-6, acknowledge orders. ...India Foxtrot 1-5 and 1-6, adjust your course to 0-9-0 and acknowledge commands or you will be forced down."

"Whiskey 2-1's lining up behind us," Harris yelled forward, as Allison saw the jet taking up its attack position. "Sierra 1-1 and 2 are 75 seconds out."

His hand forced, Rumlow's voice came through the comms. "Fuck plan A. Weapons free. 1-5 break right."

"Weapons free," Mickelson repeated. 

Allison watched as the small helicopter behind them rose over the trees and banked sharply. A split second later, her own aircraft turned evasive, pulling up and cutting away hard to the left. The pilot in the jet chose to follow them. The tracers from the Gatling under the nose of the Quinjet burned through the sky, rolling to follow the arc of the helicopter. Putting her faith in the nylon strap holding her into the body of the aircraft, she pushed down against the skid and took aim at the jet. Moving or not, it was a large target and kept a smooth flight path. 

Rounds sparked, as they ricocheted off the armored cockpit of the Quinjet. Her ammunition wasn't powerful enough to penetrate the glass, but it was enough to startle the pilot who veered off his attack. In the distraction, IF1-5 had maneuvered to the rear of the chase. Mickelson sent a pair of rockets at the tail of the plane, setting off a fiery explosion in one of the engines and sending the jet listing to the right and sinking quickly toward the trees. Harris confirmed the mayday from the distressed pilot.

"Nice shot," Brock proudly chuckled. 

The celebration was short lived, as Harris advised the search flights would arrive in under 30 seconds. Rumlow cautioned everyone to 'stay sharp', directing Mickelson back down to the road to disappear from ground radar again. 

"I don't know how much more of that luck we've got," Mick said over the air.

"Stay close," Brock told him. "We're almost there."

"They're here!" Harris told the team. "Sierras up at our 6 o'clock high. They've got clearance to fire."

"1-5 break off," Rumlow ordered. "We'll see you at the rendezvous."

"SYOTOS, Boss," Eric acknowledged, before pulling back hard and up into the sky.

"Sierra 1-2 has visual and is staying with us," Harris warned.

Allison was braced into the side of the helicopter again, weapon aimed. The only problem was the Quinjets didn't have to come to them to engage. Her rifle was useless at this range, but she stayed ready for the chance. Brock's flight path was purposefully erratic. The small MD-6 had no countermeasures for incoming missiles. Their only option was to try to be hard for the jet's weapon's guidance system to track. 

Harris was on his mic, calling out that the plane stalking them had missile lock. A pair of rockets from the launcher next to Allison were sent into the woods below. The helicopter followed them down, skimming close enough over the explosion for the searing heat of the fire to be felt on uncovered skin. The missile from the Quinjet took the bait, following into the flames instead of the heat of the helicopter's turbine. It was a trick that probably wouldn't work more than once.

Maybe it was ego at being beaten by the classic maneuver of the decoy heat signature, but the pilot of the pursuing jet seemed pissed when he broke the advantage of his altitude to give chase. He wasn't close enough for Allison or Harris' rifles to be of much use, but the Gatling under the nose of the jet strafed the air, trying to gun down the helicopter. Allison watched out the side of her little bird, as the Quinjet banked and rolled to keep its sights on them.

"You're not going to believe this," Harris began to tell everyone, "but the base is under attack."

"Say again," Rumlow questioned.

"Yes, Sir," he confirmed. "A bombing run just hit the flight line. Reports of wheeled vehicles and boots from the north. ...They're saying it's SHIELD, Sir."

"Well, I'll be a sonuvabitch," Brock marveled.

"Who called the calvary?" Eric quipped.

A string of bullets cut along the rear of the helicopter, announcing each hit with a puncturing thud. In the cockpit, red lights lit up the control console and a shudder went through the aircraft before it began to twist downward. Brock and his copilot threw switches and worked controls, managing to keep the helicopter from succumbing to an all out spin. Oil and hydraulics spit and smoke billowed from the engine of the wounded bird, as the ground raced up. In her headset, Brock's frustrated and tense voice told them to brace. 

Apr 2013

Allison's shoulders were hunched forward, straddling the wooden bench in front of her locker, her elbows into her knees and one hand cradling her pounding head into the soothing comfort of a disposable ice pack the sick call doctor had given her for her temple. Her free hand clenched into a fist where it hung over her knee. She let out an exhausted sigh, closing her eyes at the sting that came and went in her head. Kowalski had apologized for the hit, but Allison had assured him it wasn't necessary, putting on a show of toughness until the training session was over and the agents were finished for the day. But alone in the locker room, she didn't have to keep up the front. Her first day back from the Farm was a bitch.

Over her shoulder, she heard the squeak of the hinges and the heavy clang of the metal door opening and closing. She wouldn't have cared who it was, if it weren't for the distinct weight the footsteps carried. Allison's curiosity was piqued and she looked up, watching the end of the aisle to see who owned the boots she heard coming. She was more than a little confused when Jack's gaze swept the row of lockers to his right, then left, to find her. 

"They finally get you assigned to the appropriate locker room, Jackie?" Allison quipped, mustering a little more energy and sitting up a little straighter. 

Jack stopped, making a crisp left face to square himself to her. "Cute," he frowned, folding his arms and looking down at her. "How's your face, smartass?"

Allison took the ice pack off her head, rolling it around between her palms. "The face is fine," she shrugged. "It's the throbbing headache behind it that sucks."

Jack snorted, dropping his hands back to his sides and moving to sit on the bench, a respectful few feet away. "You put on a good show, though," he noted. 

"Thanks," she smirked. "I live to entertain you."

"That's not what I meant," he scowled. "I mean, you almost pulled it off. But Bingo and me, we saw some things we don't like."

"You came into the women's locker room to give me notes?" she sarcastically doubted, putting the cold pack back in place.

"To see how you're holding up," he corrected, "and warn you."

Allison gave him a suspicious once over. "About what?" 

"About your hesitating," he said, matter of factly. 

"Hesitating?" she balked. "I'm not-"

"You're holding back," Rollins insisted. "Your first time in and you waited. You never waited so long to start sparring, like you did today. It looked like your judgment was off, like you were trying to protect yourself instead of attacking. That's not you. Your style is aggressive and that's not what you were today. You were playing it too safe."

"Have you _met_ Kowalski?" Allison laughingly gaped and threw out her hand for emphasis. "We don't call him 'killer Kowalski' because he's a cuddly little kitten."

Jack chuckled, his head bobbing in understanding. "I know," he agreed. "I tried to talk Bingo out of it, but..." He sighed, his smile dissolving and expression sobering. "The point is, you need to get squared away."

"I'm squared away," she promised, although she wasn't quite sure anymore.

He was right. It took him pointing it out for her to realize, but she hadn't engaged as quickly as she ordinarily would have. Allison mentally replayed the match and became acutely aware of more than one miscalculation or flinch she had made. Kowalski should never have had so many chances. There was a nervous tug in her stomach, thinking about whether or not the uncharacteristic moves were documented in her fitness for duty eval today and the impact they would have.

"Listen, Al," Jack began, his eyes falling to his hands loosely folded in his lap. "I think you're gonna make it. Your numbers are steady climbing, your evals and shit look good. But there's something different up there," he pointed to her head, "and, if you don't know it, you need to figure it out, real fuckin' fast." Allison worked her jaw and swallowed. "We'll help you out, me and Bingo, however we can; send you back to the Farm, do extra workouts with you, retraining, whatever." He pointed again. "But you need to get right in there. You need to get squared away. You copy?"

"Yeah," she nodded. "I copy."

"It's good to have you back," he added. "You had a lot 'a guys chompin' at the bit to go get you, when Bingo said we found you."

"You mean, a lot of guys disappointed there wasn't a fire team leader position open anymore?" Allison weakly joked, wiping some perspiration from the ice pack off on her towel laying on the bench in front of her.

"No," Jack snorted, shaking his head. "You should've heard everyone in Echo bitchin' that Delta was handling your recovery."

"I can imagine," she nodded, with a crooked smile at the frustration she could picture from some of her closest teammates. 

There was a pause, while Allison assessed the usable coolness remaining in her chemical ice and Rollins studied her before speaking up. "I heard from Bingo how they found you; the shape you were in. Read how bad they fucked you up," he admitted, a kind of softness in his tone he hadn't ever given her before. "The report's been sealed. Nobody has to know what happened, if you don't tell them." Allison nodded, biting at the inside of her lower lip and, for the first time since she'd known him, finding it hard to look him in the eye. "We took care of it for you," Jack told her. "While Bingo and Rogers got you out, some of us stayed behind. It's all cleaned up for the official record, of course, but the message we left was clear. You don't fuck with our girl."

Allison nodded again, her head ducking a little lower at the sentiment behind his vague phrasing and meant to hide the humility dampening her eyes. She thumbed away a tear, before it rolled over her lashes. She would have said something, a thank you or anything else, if she knew her voice wouldn't betray her with a crack. Nothing could have prepared her for the comfort she felt, after the initial surprise, when Jack slid down the bench to the end of her knees and hooked his arm around behind her shoulders.

"You're not alone, Al," he reminded her. "We'll get you through this."

Allison tipped her forehead into his shoulder, curling her hand over his arm to rest into the hug. After weeks of therapy sessions at the Farm, it was the reassuring half-hug from the hard-assed Lieutenant Commander that made her feel like it was okay to admit how hard captivity had hurt her. The doctors didn't know her and she was understandably resistant to let them get too close. She didn't fully trust that they would sign off on her release, so she fed them just enough and crafted her responses to hit all the checkmarks she needed to make to pass their evals and show "progress". The impression she left them with was of a STRIKE operator who was stronger after captivity, readjusted and ready to get back to work, when in fact, she was trained to give the right answers and would do anything to go home.

Allison took and let out a long, slow breath, the closest to her crying she'd let him see. After all, it was still Jack. But there were no insults or taunts to trade. For a long, peaceful minute, Allison and Rollins were still, save for the occasional soothing sweeps of his thumb on her arm. It was the kindness she didn't know she needed, until then. For the first time since she was rescued, she believed someone when they said they were there for her.

An awkward titter left Allison, as she cleared her throat and straightened up. "So, does that mean we're even?" She wiped a knuckle across the tip of her nose. "I save your life, you deliver some vengeance for me?"

"Ohh, the shit we did for you," he mused, recalling whatever he and Delta had done in her name with a quiet chuckle and shake of his head. "We'll never be even for that, Princess."

"You're not so bad, Jack," Allison told him. A thin smile came to her, lightening the mood a little further, as she teased, "In fact, I'm gonna let all the guys know how good you are at hugs. Tell 'em what a softy you are."

Rollins stood and turned to head back to the main aisle toward the locker room entrance. He stopped at the end of the row of lockers to look back at her and smirked, "No one will ever believe you."


	44. Chapter 44

July 2015

There was a ringing in her ears that was slow to dissolve. Her eyes fluttered, blinking dirt and smoke from her stinging vision. Allison sat up slowly, feeling a new weight over her legs. On her right, the rocket pod had broken free of its mount and the weight of the tube of missiles pulled the twisted bracket down to pin her lower leg to the deck of the cabin. There was a sharp pain that drew across her shin as she turned her leg to be able to slide her foot underneath the debris and free herself. Looking down, there was a tear in the front of her pant leg, a couple inches worth of material torn open by a jagged edge of metal and a fresh cut in her skin below that. It wasn't anything that would stop her from moving and she pulled her feet under her, crouching to climb across the misshapen cabin to check on Harris.

Harris was wiping at his face, his gloved hand smearing dirt down away from his eyes. He saw her and gave a thumbs up, as he straightened himself against the open doorframe of the helicopter, with a groan. Allison nodded, calling up to the cockpit, as she pivoted to reach the pilots' seats. Rumlow's head was coming up slow and, beside her, Harris appeared, reaching around the side of the copilot's chair to shake and rouse the other flier. Allison leaned forward, craning her neck to see Brock's face.

"Boss, you okay?" she checked, ducking her head to look him in the eye.

Brock blinked and strained his eyes into focus, stretching his jaw and shaking his head. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay," he nodded, despite the wince crossing his face when he pressed at his ribs.

Glancing at the copilot, Allison saw him talking to Harris, who was helping him unhook from his harnesses. "We gotta go," she said. "I smell smoke and fuel and that never ends well."

Rumlow was already slipping his arms out of the straps of his seat and Allison helped Harris pull the copilot from the cockpit to the rear of the helicopter. Brock followed on his own, clamoring over the jumbled pieces of aircraft, as Harris helped his friend to his feet outside. Reaching back into the cockpit, Brock wrestled his rifle and the copilot's free and passed them out to Allison. They discarded their helmets in a pile. With the radio in the helicopter dead, along with the rest of the electronics, they weren't useful anymore.

With a quick once over of everyone, Allison assessed injuries and their status. For herself, she could feel the stickiness of blood building on her leg and an occasional stab in her shoulder blade warned her she might have a piece of shrapnel in there or some other injury. She still had her weapon, but somewhere in the crash Harris' had been lost. The copilot seemed to have a dislocated shoulder, but he put his pistol in his other hand and assured his commander, he was good to go. Brock handed Harris a rifle, telling him to take care of Nealon and Allison knew his name now, too.

With an out of place smirk, Brock looked back at the crash, saying, "Not bad."

"Any landing you can crawl away from..." Nealon agreed, with a pained smile, as he moved the hand of his injured arm to hold onto the front of his armor in lieu of a sling.

"Sounds about right," Rumlow nodded, pointing the way.

"That's not the saying, ...assholes," Harris grumbled, frowning at the bleeding wound above his hip, as he packed in a clotting agent.

"You're alive, ain't ya?" Brock reminded him, smacking his arm as he moved past Harris to lead them away. He pulled the balaclava back up on his face, looking up to the dense treetops and telling the others, "This canopy will hold back the sun a bit. Cover up and keep to the shade. Let's move out."

The four of them headed West, away from the wreckage of their downed helicopter. Through the thick cover of trees above them, they could hear the Quinjet overhead; maybe looking for a place to land, but no doubt looking for survivors. They fled as quickly as they could, deeper into the woods, away from the crash site and road. According to the GPS on Rumlow's arm, the fight and crash had them almost three miles off course. With active pursuers, it was a lot of ground to cover and not a lot of time. The farther they went, the more challenging the terrain became. Their pace slowed, negotiating steep hillsides and rocky slopes with everyone bearing some kind of injury from the crash.

Overhead, jets hovered. Harris still had his extra radio. As they moved, he updated what he could keep track of in all the overlapping chatter. The attack on the HYDRA facility was still ongoing. Now that HYDRA knew where the stolen helicopters had fled to, they recalled some of their aircraft to help in the fight. It didn't do the group any favors. One of the search planes still in the area carried a full squad of soldiers with them. They were on the ground within minutes of the crash, making their way into the woods to find the crash site and start tracking survivors. Since splitting off from their little bird, there had been no communication from Mickelson and the other helicopter. The control tower warned the search teams, a pair of SHIELD Quinjets were diverting to investigate what HYDRA was doing away from the base. Allison hoped the SHIELD planes might be able to distract HYDRA long enough for her and the others to make it to safety. If they ran off or defeated HYDRA, she hoped they were in on the plan with the Captain. If not, she worried she and the others would be taken down, mistaken for HYDRA true believers.

They took cover under a narrow overhang of rock. Harris tuned into the radio, trying to listen for anything from the soldiers in pursuit. Allison tied up a makeshift sling for Nealon from a torn off strip of Harris' outer shirt, when he discarded it to put gauze over his side from the small medical pouch each operator's belt had on it. Catching a breath and checking their heading against their GPS position, they started off again, the sounds of snapping branches coming up softly from the direction of the crash behind them.

June 2015

"You still awake out there?"

Allison shook her head, her lips pulling to one side in a smirk at his question. "Yes," she sarcastically replied. "Why, you need to go to bed, old man?"

"Old man," Barnes repeated in her ear, with a small snort. "That's real funny. ...See anything good down there?"

"Not really," she frowned, raising her binoculars again to pan her gaze across the field ahead. "Looks like just a refueling depot. Short runway. Probably just Quinjets and helos. A couple admin buildings, maybe; three hangars, possibly some barracks, etcetera. There's a reinforced structure near the center of the compound, though, with a few guards at the entrance. Might be an armory."

"Target assessment?"

Allison shrugged to herself, trading her view with the binoculars to wink into the scope of her rifle for a more detailed look at the small facility's front gate. "Soft target," she decided. "A heavy enough vehicle could punch through the gate easy. Could grab one of these deuce and a halfs as they leave the facility down the road. Some 40mms at the tankers and barrels would light it up nicely. If you want to go subtle, we could go over the wire with some C4. But I don't think there's any useful intel here."

"What about that armory?"

"If that's what it is?" she considered. "Piece of cake. Slip in, take out the sentries and swipe an access card. We could probably use a little restocking."

"Subtle sounds like the way to go. It'd be the last of the rounds for the Milkor, if we made it noisy."

Allison hummed her understanding. "And you do love that thing," she smiled.

"Everybody's got a favorite, right?"

"That they do," she agreed.

The channel was quiet for a few minutes. Allison took up her binoculars again, taking another head count of the HDYRA soldiers she could see and making sure she hadn't overlooked any posts, as she surveyed the last edge of the perimeter. Dew was beginning to gather on the tall blades of grass around her. Allison took a deep breath of the fresh air and a quick glance up at the starry sky. She grinned at the sight; not a cloud in the sky and nothing around for miles to pollute the view.

"Well, I'm officially bored. How much longer you gonna stay at it?"

"Bored?" Allison chuckled. "With all this excitement going on?"

"I know. Amazing, isn't it?"

"Disappointing is more like it," she corrected.

"And you're having so much fun?"

"I love this," she admitted.

"Bullllshit."

"I'm serious," Allison insisted, pushing a fingertip in her ear to adjust the way the comms device was sitting. "Fresh air, crickets chirping, shining night sky."

"What is this, the god damn Peace Corp now?"

Allison chuckled along with Barnes. "Hardly. I just appreciate the little things. Keeps you sane."

"The calm before the storm."

"Now you get it," she agreed, her comment being the last before a brief lull.

"What was your favorite part of the job? You know, before you became an independent contractor."

"Independent contractor," Allison repeated, trying out the sound of it. "That's a good one."

"Thanks."

A pair of headlights lit up and caught Allison's attention. She turned he gaze to follow the truck on its way to the gate. The vehicle stopped despite the gate opening. Apparently the driver was going to chat for a bit before moving on, and Allison lost interest quick.

"So? How 'bout it?"

"I don't know," Allison stalled to think, taking a sip off her canteen of water. "Except for the easy recons like this? ...Probably have to go with, and I know it sounds stupid, but the training."

"Which part?"

"All of it," she smiled, fondly, to herself. "Gimme a hard day with my team; sweating off asses, getting bruised and dirty, the friendly competition. Never happier. I liked all the shit talking with my guys and the inside jokes; the ball busting with the other teams. ...They were my brothers." She winked into her scope to check the truck at the gate. "I miss those assholes," she added, quietly.

"That's good stuff."

"I miss poker nights," she realized, with a frown and a small ache in her chest.

"You're in luck. I'll gladly talk shit to you all day _and_ take all your money."

"You would try, anyway," Allison smirked at the challenge.

"If you're done picking daisies out there, I'll get a deck of cards and put you in the poor house before the sun comes up."

Allison rolled onto her side, beginning to tuck her gear away into her backpack. "You're on, old man."

July 2015

"I can't see them," Allison said, tipping her head back to peek over the fallen tree she was sheltered behind.

The sound of sporadic gunfire was reassuring. It wasn't coming from her or Rumlow, but as long as they heard the shots, they knew Harris and Nealon, or at least one of them, was still alive and fighting. The HYDRA agents dropped into the woods to hunt down Allison and her rescuers had caught up to the injured team. A pair had flanked them and, in the chaotic moment of ambush, Harris and Nealon were cut off from her and Brock. At least, she hoped it was HYDRA. It was only moments ago that Harris had caught a transmission back to the HYDRA base that SHIELD agents were on the ground as well now.

"They'll be alright," Rumlow assured her, pressing his shoulder into the tree to raise up and assess the situation. "They know the way. They'll catch up and meet us with Mick and the others." He gave Allison a confident nod. "Let's go."

Allison took a deep breath, pushing back against the tree to shift to her knee and take off with Rumlow. The gunfire continued behind them, but wasn't getting any closer. The sounds of the fight turned into distant echoes bouncing around the trees, the further they ran. They were about a mile to safety. There were still a creek and a few more rises and falls in the terrain to get over.

It wasn't the sweat stinging her eyes in the rising July heat that pissed her off. It was the thundering crack of a high powered rifle round sent tearing through the trees and the image that followed the sound. Rumlow fell, the momentum of his running sending him barreling down into the ground, his shoulder digging into the dirt and face twisted in pain.

Allison slid to a stop on her knee, flattening her back against a wide, old tree, watching as Brock pushed himself along on his back, digging his boot heels into the forest floor to propel himself into the relative concealment of some dense brush. Hissing for breath, he shook his head and held up a hand, a silent order for Allison to stay put. Rumlow's left arm laid motionless along his side, as he grabbed at his torn shirt with his right hand. He grit his teeth at the movement and the pressure that ripping back the shirt put into his wound. Allison didn't have a good view of him, but she could see the blood running. Rumlow caught the shift of her weight to her heel, as Allison was readying to make a break for it and cross the sniper's path to him, but he put up his hand again and gave her a warning look. Allison settled back against the tree, working her jaw in frustration.

Using hand signals, they asked and answered each other about the shooter. Neither of them had eyes on their enemy and there hadn't been another shot to be able to try and zero in on the sound or a muzzle flash. There really was no choice. Someone had to expose themselves to draw out a second shot. There was a silent, but furious, argument about who the volunteer would be. In the end, Rumlow gestured to his wounded shoulder. Allison didn't want to risk the chance of him being hit again, but she knew he was right. The odds for making the shot were in her favor, not his. With a fuming exhale, she accepted the plan. He signaled to wait for a 3 count and she nodded, tucking her rifle into her shoulder and pieing around the tree slowly to limit her own exposure. Brock tipped up the hand of his injured arm to cue the count.

From the side of her eye, Allison saw Brock carefully slip the rifle sling off from over his head. He laid down the weapon, shifting it around on the ground to grab by the barrel. He gave her a nod, slowly dropping fingers in the count. Before he  pulled 'one', Allison turned her eyes down the iron sights of her rifle. In her periphery, she saw a wave of the tall grass in front of Rumlow's position, as the butt of his M4 fanned the undergrowth as if he were moving. Another shot rang out, snapping the rifle from Brock's grip, as the round crashed into the rifle stock at over 2,500 feet per second. Allison sent a burst of three rounds back, focused on the spot where she saw the other shooter's muzzle flash. An errant shot flew, in response. Allison kept her eye fixed down the line of her sights, waiting for any movement or retaliation. When there was none, she sent a second set of shots, exposing her arm and weapon to entice the sniper. After a long minute, nothing happened and Allison lowered her rifle, satisfied. She crossed the open space between her and Brock, helping him to sit up and lean in to her lap.

While Allison reached behind her into her medical pouch, Brock quipped, "Good thing you didn't miss."

"Shut up," she shook her head, rolling her eyes. Allison gingerly peeled away the shredded material at Rumlow's shoulder, exposing his wound, muttering, under her breath, "Jesus."

"We gotta work on your bedside manner," Brock quipped, before grimacing and groaning at the chemical burn from the clotting agent Allison poured in his gaping wound.

She pressed her palm over the front of his shoulder, holding the agent in while it set, helping to turn him on his side to check for an exit wound. There was a small sense of relief at finding one. Allison pulled the back of his shirt apart and sprinkled in the rest of the powder. Taking time to let the agent work, she let Brock relax back into her. His eyes pinched shut, he took in a slow, deep breath and let it out the same.

"Ah, Addy," he complained. "You should'a run with Barnes when you had the chance."

"And miss out on all this fun?" she asked, checking around them for any new threats. Allison looked back down at him and his disapproving head shake, despite his crinkled eyes. "You should've known, I wouldn't leave without you."

"I know," he nodded, adjusting the balaclava over his face. "No harm in hoping though."

"Ready?" Allison checked, knowing the sniper might have radioed in his location and that they couldn't afford to stay much longer.

Rumlow nodded, folding a leg underneath him and grabbing his rifle to plant into the ground to help him stand. Allison was at his side, hooking her arm under his good one to help lift him to his feet. He took a second to steady himself and loop his rifle sling over his shoulder, before inclining his head in the direction of the rally point. "This way." 


	45. Chapter 45

July 2015

Taking cover along a rock formation jutting out of the hillside, Brock tapped the GPS on his wrist to life. He blinked the sweat out of his eyes and took a quick look around. Allison watched him, a little worried by the fatigue she saw setting in.

"How much further?" she checked.

"Rogers is just ahead," Rumlow told her. "About 800 meters east of here. If they're not already there, if you can, you make him wait for the others."

"Wait for the oth-" she shook her head, her brow pulling down in confusion. "What are you-"

She was interrupted by Brock taking the GPS off his wounded arm and forcing it into her hand. He looked Allison in the eye. "You get to the LZ and make sure Rogers honors the deal."

"And what the hell are you going to be doing?" she asked, looking disbelievingly at the device in her hand.

"This is as far as I go, Addy," he told her. "I made the trade for you and the last of my guys."

"What do you mean, this is as far?" Allison swallowed a breath, scanning around to see no one was close. "You can't do this to me again," she insisted. 

"Sweetheart, you gotta go," Rumlow urged, with a sweep of his head to try and end the debate.

"If you won't come with me," she offered, "then just- Let's just walk away."

"If you don't make that rendezvous," he warned, "the deal is off. Mick and the others, there's no immunity for testimony, no protection. If they get to Rogers without you, they're going to federal prison or he'll leave them and HYDRA's gonna kill 'em. I'll get you there, but I can't follow."

"Why?" Allison demanded. "Why aren't you in this deal?"

Rumlow shook his head. "Because it's me," he spat. "The things I've done, my involvement with Barnes, everything." He took a breath, lowering his voice and his shoulders sagging to mirror the change. "You know I can't. Locked away in some black site prison by Rogers or in one of HYDRA's; either way, they'll get to me and I'm a dead man."

"You need a medic," she argued. "We can make a deal for you. We tell them-"

"Everything I did," he reminded her, "I did to protect you. That's all it ever was for. That's all this is now. You go on." He waved, unconcerned, at his injured shoulder. "This is just a scratch. I'll hold them here and cover you."

"I didn't come all this way to leave you behind," Allison shook her head. "I don't care if they take me again. I'm not-"

"Addy," Brock interrupted, taking hold of the front of her vest in his right hand, with a small jerk for her undivided attention, "listen to me. Your guys or mine, they're coming. And, either way, we're on the wrong side. Baby, please. You _have_ to go."

"Please," she begged, feeling the burning heat coming to the back of her eyes. "Don't make me do this."

Rumlow cupped his hand to her face, his thumb smoothing along her mask covered cheek, and set his eyes firmly on hers, a fond look in his eyes. "Addy, I am so proud of you," he told her. " _So_ proud. Look at what you've done. There's nobody that could'a done what you did; what you did for him, what you did for me. But, baby, you're not finsihed. You gotta do this for Mick and the boys. And then it's time to do something for yourself."

She shook her head in refusal and tears. "No."

"That's an order," he insisted, his smile showing in the crinkles at the corners of his eyes above his mask, as he looked between her eyes, before pressing a cloth-covered kiss to her forehead. "One more job and then you're done; you don't have to do this anymore."

Her hurt tears turned to anger. "You can't tell me to not give up on you," she seethed, knocking his hand away, "and then give up on me. You can't do that."

"Addy, I'm not-"

"You are," she insisted, feeling the heat rising up her neck. "We never run from a fight. And we don't leave anyone behind. That's not who you are. That's not what we're trained to do. We win." Allison stabbed a finger at him. " _You_ taught me that. And I won't let you quit. You're coming with me and we face whatever happens together." She pulled in a needed breath to rail on and try to pull back her tears. "Or we stay here and we fight. And, if this is the end, then we go to Valhalla- together. That's what warriors do. That's what family does, god damn it. And you're all I have."

"Fuckin' hell, Allison," he bit. "I am trying to save your life."

She shook her head at him, in absolute resolve. "We're not done yet. Now, you decide. _You_ decide where we fight. Here," she asked, before pointing with the length of her arm towards the east, "or with Rogers?"

Brock took her in for a moment, his gaze drifting over her as she breathed deep to steady herself again, waiting for him. "Jesus fucking Christ, Addy," he grimaced. He took a step in, raising a stern finger high and pointing her way to emphasize his frustration. "You're too stubborn for your own good. For fuck's sa- Do you even hear what you're saying? I go with you or you stay with me and you're signing both our death warrants."

She shook her head. "No. Not us," she promised, a wistfulness in her voice. "You and me, we'd run the world."

He blinked, staring a moment before his head dropped with a shake, with a quiet snort when he looked back up at her. "Don't twist this around on me," Brock gently warned her. He studied her another moment, before his expression fell, sobered. "Sweetheart," he sighed, "it's suicide."

"It's a risk I'm willing to take," Allison corrected. "Come with me and we'll figure out the rest later, but I won't leave you again."

"Christ, Addy," he complained. "You're too god damn stubborn." Brock shook his head, bringing his M4 up again and changing the magazine. "Come on. Let's see what happens."

July 2013

"I swear to god, ladies," Rollins loudly warned, trying to spur on Delta Team, "if you let these assholes win, you will never live this down."

"Gimme two fresh bodies," Rumlow ordered, standing on top of a short sandbag wall, looking over Delta and Echo Teams with a clip board edged into his hip under one hand. "Last one."

There were no less than three hands that went to Allison's back to push her forward. Maneuvering to the front of the group of Echo operators, she raised her hand, waiting to be acknowledged. Brock's gaze was searching around the group of agents from Delta, waiting to see who stepped up. When Vandoren came forward, Rumlow checked his list and turned to see Echo's offering.

"I said 'fresh bodies'," Brock reminded everyone. "Addams already did a round."

"There's no one left," Mickelson called out. "We're down two today, remember?"

"So, you send out the girl?" Rumlow chuckled, his brow peaked over his sunglasses in amusement. "Chivalry is, in fact, dead."

Allison shrugged with an innocent smile and Rumlow made a sharp whistle through his teeth, waving over a medic. "Doc! Eyes open," he instructed, pointing out Allison.

With the temperature hovering at around 104 with the thick humidity and sun in the air, it was less than comfortable conditions to be running quarterly physical fitness tests. Hell, it was practically inhumane. But STRIKE team members were used to working in miserable conditions anyway. So, when it came time for the bragging rights portion of the assessments, Delta and Echo squared off, their cumulative scores tying them as the top performers among the five STRIKE teams. Allison didn't necessarily mind taking one for the team. She'd already competed in an exercise with her squad, an hour earlier, but she knew her team had pushed themselves a little harder for her, purposefully "saving her" for the last challenge.

"Geez, Al," Rogers smirked. "No love from your guys?"

"Rogers, don't fraternize with the enemy!" Jack called out, waving a hand to move him along.

"Be careful in this heat, Ally," the Captain thoughtfully worried, giving her arm a pat and taking her bottle of Gatorade for her, as he moved out of the way.

"Step up to the line," Rumlow instructed, over the sound of the trash and pep talks beginning to swell from the observing operators and Allison and Vandoren moved up to the beginning of the course.

"You gonna do this with your shades on, Princess?" Rollins hollered, stirring up the laughter from his men.

"Just for you," Allison yelled back, bending her arm behind her back to surreptitiously flip off the guys from Delta.

"Score is cumulative of course time and each runner's PT total at the end," Brock went on, ignoring the ruckus. "Observers in the woods for the run will make sure nobody shortcuts," he warned. Judging the two agents ready, he yelled, "Go!"

Allison was all in, matching Vandoren stride for stride for the next few minutes, over and under obstacles. Climbing ropes up walls and rolling down cargo netting, swinging over muddy water pits, and dancing over uneven stumps of lumber to run up narrow beams. Sand stuck to their sweaty skin as they crawled under concertina wire and it scraped skin under the weight of the 185 pound dummy for the "buddy carry". Vandoren took a short lead, when Allison slowed to give a little more care to her descent along the rope from the platform 35' above the ground. The blister on her palm, from an exercise earlier in the day, had tore open.

Echo was putting their bets on Allison outlasting Vandoren after the mile run on an uneven dirt path that looped them back around to the start line and a stamina testing set of calisthenics. When it was all said and done, Vandoren had fallen behind. He dropped out at the last station, barely getting through his 27th pull-up, while Allison made her 30. To rub it in, Allison finished with a one-handed pull-up and flipped off Jack with the bleeding one.

Her teammates took her down from where she hung with her chin above the bar, her lips puckering a kiss at Jack, as he shook his head at her. Allison was carried for several celebratory seconds, before Rumlow pointed for her to be put down and barked for the medic to check her hand. She pulled off her sweaty t-shirt to whip the sand off of her arms, throwing it up over the pull-up bar while the medic flushed Allison's wound for a better look. Rogers stood by, watching him treat Allison. When her hand was sufficiently cleaned and dressed, the Captain passed her the last of her Gatorade.

"Good job, Al," he beamed. He inclined his head toward the grumbling Delta team, adding, "You really shut them up."

"The only thing more satisfying than winning, is seeing that look on Jack's face," Allison chuckled, before taking a long drink. Allison looked over the bandage on her hand. "Maybe it'll motivate them to do better next quarter," she suggested, moving with Rogers to the garbage can to throw away her empty bottle and trying to dust away the sand still stuck on her.

Rogers tipped his head for Allison to turn around. Twisting over her shoulder, she saw Rollins coming to a stop behind her and she turned to let him in to the conversation. She gave him a friendly smile and he gave her a tight nod, as he handed her a cold bottle of water.

"Come to settle up?" she wondered, wagging her eyebrows up over the top of her sunglasses and still smiling.

"Alright," Jack grumbled. "I think it was a setup, so I _shouldn't_...but I will." He dug into his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash, thumbing out $100 and unhappily handing it over.

"Thanks, Jack," she nodded, folding the bills over and tucking them into her pocket. "Lovely doing business with you."

"Piss off, Al," he smirked. "Drink your water."

"You guys made a bet?" Rogers asked.

"Hundred bucks said Echo would break the tie and win," Allison confirmed and twisted open her water for a drink.

"You barely won that," Rollins persisted.

"Don't be a sore loser," Allison playfully pouted, poking a finger into his arm.

"Because you're such a humble winner?" he snorted and tapped his hand under the end of her bottle as she drank, trying to spill it. Jack shook his head, conceding, "You did gut it out there at the end, with your hand and all. Not bad, Princess."

"Your little pissing contest over?" Rumlow asked, coming up to join the group and looking between Allison and Jack. He turned to Allison, tossing her shirt to her. "Don't leave your shit hanging around. We're not your fuckin' maid service."

"Yes, Sir," she snickered with the others, draping the shirt over her shoulder.

"I saw that, by the way. What'd you get out of him?" Brock wondered.

"Hundred bucks," Allison answered, proudly, finding a clean spot on the bottom of her shirt to wipe her brow.

"You fucker," Rumlow spat at Rollins. "You only gave me fifty."

"He was just saying, you only get fifty 'cause you're not as pretty," Allison teased and Jack gave her a friendly push in the shoulder.

"You bet against your own team?" Rogers laughed.

"Just on the last exercise," Brock argued, holding up his finger in correction. "I had to. He already had the action on Delta." He held his hand out to Jack, impatiently flicking his fingers for the bet to be resolved. "C'mon, ya cheap bastard. Pay up."

Rollins begrudgingly counted out another $50 and gave it to Brock, while Rogers realized, "Damn it. I should'a got in on this."

"And bet against your own team?" Allison feigned disgust.

The Captain held up his finger to correct her. "I don't do the physical assessments with them," he reminded her. "I'm just here to watch on my own." He shrugged, innocently. "So..."

"Slippery slope, Cap," Allison winked. She smugly added, "But I understand you wanting to trade up from Delta to the better team."

Rumlow looped a hand for her to look around, pointing out, "Watch your mouth, kid. It's three to one. None of your boys are in earshot to bail you outta this one."

"Something tells me, the safe bet is always on Al," Rogers winked.

"She comes through," Jack agreed, with a shrug.

"Careful, Jack," she playfully warned, giving him a nudge in the arm with her fist, "people might start to think you like me."

"I'm just saying you're consistent," he clarified. "You're a Horseman for a reason, right?"

"No, Jack," Allison firmly shook her head. "I will not go out with you, so stop flirting, okay?"

The small group laughed out loud and Rollins smirked, "You'd be lucky to get a pity fuck and it'd be the highlight of your life, Princess."

"Alright," Rumlow piped up. "Enough with the romance. You two are gonna make me throw up." He pointed for them to move on to the parking lot and end the day. "There'll be a copy of the fraternizing policy in both your emails in the morning."

Everyone laughed, heading to the lot after the other team members, and Rogers reminded the group, "You know, in this weather, it's important to hydrate." Allison took a swig off her water bottle and held it up in agreement and he went on, "So, who's buying tonight at Barny's?"

Jack pointed between Brock and Allison. "They've got all my cash. So, I guess, technically, that means already I am."

"Sounds about right," Allison nodded, giving him a sarcastically consoling rub on the back. "Better luck in October, Jack."

Jack quickly hooked an arm over the back of Allison's neck, tugging her down into a headlock as they walked. "I will take back every nice thing I ever said about you," he threatened, as Allison wiggled free several step later and he gave her a gentle shove away.

"I'm gonna make you love me, Jack," she promised, sidestepping to jump on his back and hug her arms around his neck, hanging from him like a cape with her feet kicked up behind her.

"You got a little something stuck on you, right there," Rogers noted, pointing out Allison to Jack.

Jack tried to shrug her off, as he walked and she pulled up her legs to lock around his waist, telling her, "If you're too tired to walk, get a fucking medic."

"When I have you? Never. You're my favorite agent, Jack," she declared. "Did I ever tell you that?"

"Bingo," he began, looking to Brock for help, as he hooked his hands to hang casually from Allison's arms across the front of his shoulders, "get this suck up off my ass."

Rumlow held up the clipboard in his left hand, gesturing helplessly at it with his empty right hand. "Sorry, Jack," he shrugged. "I got my own hands full."

"Tell me I'm your favorite agent," she prodded Rollins, tipping her head to his. "Say you love me, Jack. Sayyy it."

"I'd give my left nut for a gun, right now," Jack grumbled, with a shake of his head and a chuckle underlining the complaint. He scooped his hands under Allison's knees to shift her weight to carry her more comfortably, as she gave him a squeeze and let her feet fall to his sides.

"You love me," she proudly decided, nuzzling her head to Jack's, when he muttered a defeated 'Yeah yeah'.

"This might be the most dysfunctional family I have ever seen," Rogers considered, with a chuckle, and Allison reached over from her perch on Jack to scold the Captain with a smack on the arm.


	46. Chapter 46

Nov 2013

"You're pretty much the worst date ever."

Walking across the ballroom toward the green space, Allison gaped, " _Me_? How do you figure? You didn't even bring me flowers or pick me up."

"Yeah, no shit. The whole team left from the hotel together," Jack reminded her, reaching out to push open the door ahead of her. "You're lucky I let you ride with me to keep up the cover. And I _figure_ because you're paying attention to some other guy the whole time we're here."

"He's the target, Jack," Allison chuckled, adjusting her voice to the lower volume of the outside patio. " _You're_ lucky Penn, Fender, and I were free to make you guys look less obvious in a crowd."

"I'm just saying," Rollins shrugged, tucking his hands into his pants pockets at the biting cold in the air. "Oh, fuck this."

Heading straight for one of the heaters on the edge of the patio, Allison took advantage of the dimmer lights to go relatively unnoticed among the thin smattering of smokers and other other guests that had stepped out for some fresh air. A shiver went through her shoulders and Allison eyed the propane heater, frowning, "Is this thing even on?"

"Target's moving," the mission controller advised through the comms. "30 seconds to the door."

"Remember," Rumlow chimed in, "wait for the signal from our asset to verify the exchange has been made. Team 2 will secure the asset before Team 1 makes the approach on the target. Cover positions advise for go- no go."

"Charlie 1, in position. Charlie 1 is green."

"Charlie 2, in position. Charlie 2's green," Rollins said, with a subtle move of his hand to open his mic to speak.

"Charlie 3, in position. Charlie 3 is green."

"Mission is go," Brock advised. "Mission is go."

"Target has arrived," the controller updated. "Southwest corner. Asset is en route. 60 seconds."

"You're always cold," Jack mused, with a stifled laugh.

"The exchange was supposed to happen _inside_ ," Allison grumblingly reminded him, crossing her arms over herself and running her hands up and down her arms to warm herself. 

"Something spooked him," Rollins observed, with a frown. "Should be over soon." Allison rolled her eyes, not entirely encouraged by his optimism. "Come here, darling," he mockingly offered, with a half-roll of his own eyes and the words dripping with annoyed sarcasm, opening his arm to her. "Don't say I wasn't a gentleman on our date."

"You're such a dick," she smirked.

Allison took a step closer, tucking herself under his arm and snaking her arms around him beneath his suit coat. With a small tug of his jacket forward, Rollins covered her arms the best he could and folded his arm across her to help warm her. He shifted his feet to turn them a few inches, allowing Allison a view of the rendezvous location, as she rested her head on his chest. To anyone else outside, they were the romantic picture of a doting man and his cold girlfriend or wife.

"Thanks," she told him, smoothing her hand along his back to locate her gun in the paddle holster in his waistband at the small of his back.

"Asset has exited the building; on track to the rendezvous location," the operator in the TOC updated the teams.

"I've got eyes," Jack noted to Allison, tipping his head to rest on hers and running his hand up and down her bare arm not covered by his coat. 

The voice in the comms advised that the target and asset were beginning the exchange and Allison smiled, "This is a nice suit, Jack." She peeked at the label in the lining. " _Very_ nice," she approved, with a small nod. "Good color, too. You should wear more suits."

"Shut up, smartass," Rollins smirked, giving her arm a small pinch.

"No, seriously," Allison assured him, stifling a giggle. 

From his vantage, Emery warned, "Charlie 3. Caution signal from the asset. Something's wrong with the exchange."

"Stay frosty," Brock urged. "Mission is still go, until we get the abort signal from our asset."

Allison caught a suspicious look around from the target and turned her gaze up to meet Jack's. They sold the couple routine, Allison nuzzling into his collar, while Rollins bowed his head to the curve of her neck.

"Target's taking an aggressive posture," Jack whispered to Allison's ear and she felt him tensing.

"Eyes open," Rumlow ordered. "Charlies, check your world. We may have another player."

"Charlie 3, check your six," the controller cautioned. "Variable entering your AO from the west entrance."

"Charlie 3. Copy. ...Possible Variable ID, Viktor Nikolov," Emery said. "Can anyone verify?"

Rollins lifted his chin from Allison's shoulder, confirming to the TOC, "Charlie 2, verified."

"The fuck is he doing here?" Allison muttered, curling her fingers around the grip of her gun at his back. 

"Eeeasy, Princess," Jack breathed, sliding his hand down the back of her arm to stop at her elbow near his side and his own gun secured in the shoulder rig beneath his suit coat. 

While Rollins tempered Allison's irritation at the unanticipated arrival of the Bulgarian operative, Brock was on the channel again, telling the teams, "Nikolov is _not_ sanctioned by NIS. Charlie 1, reprioritze on Nikolov. Do _not_ let him engage the target or asset."

"Charlie 3. Nikolov has stopped. South edge of the fountain," Emery updated. "The exchange is being made."

"He's at your 8 o'clock," Jack quietly told her. "Too many civilians. No shot. Keep your eyes on the Tango. If this goes south, I'll engage Nikolov, you sweep our six for any other players."

"Roger that," Allison nodded, still cuddled to his shoulder and continuing to watch the exchange from her periphery.

"Charlie 3. Exchange complete," Emery noted. "Asset is clear. Nikolov is moving toward the target."

"Charlie 1, intercept Nikolov," Rumlow ordered, rapid fire. "Charlie 2 and 3, secure the target. Teams 1 and 2- go!"

Just as Rollins and Allison straightened to separate and make their approach to take the target into custody, a startled scream broke the relative peace of the outdoors. Allison stripped her gun from its holster on Jack, while she heard the traffic from Charlie 1 that Nikolov was armed. Jack's arm came over her head, putting his hand between her shoulder blades to guide her down and away as he drew his weapon from under his jacket. Moving away from Jack, she scanned the courtyard behind them for any other threats. Seeing none, Allison came around to see Nikolov firing a shot. In the same instance, Emery was sprinting across the small courtyard toward the target, as the panicked guests at the party scrambled for the safety of the hotel.

Nikolov's shot found its mark, sending the target spinning to the ground face first, while the channel was congested with the traffic of the other Delta agents on the perimeter teams responding into the hotel or toward the patio. Rollins already had the angle on Nikolov and returned fire, as the rouge intelligence agent retreated backward to the edge of the green space. Nikolov turned toward Jack, taking aim, as Allison's attention came off of the downed man. Emery and a couple more agents were already on the target, picking him up and covering their egress. She was able to look just fast enough to see Nikolov's next move; Nikolov firing back at Rollins, just as the crowd cleared and Allison's sights found their target on Nikolov's chest.

Everything happened at once. Allison was down, spun away and crouched low to one knee, her back to Nikolov now and held down by the weight of Jack folded over her. The sound of three small thumps behind her was immediately overcome by a short hail of gunfire and the adrenaline fueled voices of her temporary teammates' confirmation that Nikolov was down and the target and asset were secure. It was all over in a matter of seconds. Above her, Jack straightened up, pulling Allison to sit upright with him by his arm hooked around her waist.

Allison turned on her toe and knee, twisting over her shoulder to see the arching stretch Rollins' made backward and the tight grimace on his face, as he growled, "Mother _fucker_." He took back his arm from around her and sat back on his heel, holstering his weapon under his jacket again. Jack put his hand on her shoulder to turn her to face him better, looking her over with an uncomfortable squint in his eye, asking, "You okay, Princess?"

"Yeah," she nodded, swallowing a breath to settle her racing pulse. "Yeah, I'm okay." While Jack nodded his approval, with an unhappy sigh, Allison stood, bending round his shoulder to see where his hand was pressed to his back. Seeing the three tears into the back of his jacket, Allison ran her hand over his shoulder and spine to feel for the rounds trapped in the Kevlar. "You okay?" she worried, crouching again to be able to reach the lowest mark on his back.

"Fantastic," Rollins sarcastically nodded. Resting his free hand over his bent up knee, he complained again, "Fuckin' hell."

Allison couldn't help the small smile in the corner of her mouth, looking down at him, knowing he would be bruised later but the bitching meant he really was okay. She watched him with a critical eye, rubbing a firm hand round on the part of the vest over his shoulder blade to help massage away some of the inevitable stain no doubt already developing under his skin. 

"So much for the suit, huh?" she snickered.

"Yeah," he snorted, with a tick back of his head. The controller in the TOC was doing a roll call of operators and Jack replied for them, "Charlie 2. Okay."

"C'mon," Allison told him, putting her arm under Rollins' to help him to his feet. "You sure you're okay?"

Rollins nodded and groaned, "Yeah." He bent backward again, with another faint wince and his hand on Allison's shoulder to steady himself. "Didn't get through the vest."

"Guess you're not such a bad date, after all," Allison considered, slipping her arm around to the small of his back, under his suit coat, to reholster her gun. She kept her arm there, hugging against his side, as they walked back toward the ballroom entrance and quietly telling him, "Thanks, Jack."

With his arm draped around her shoulder, Rollins squeezed her back and chuckled, promising, "Anytime, Princess." He sent her ahead of him with a gentle hand at the small of her back, when he pulled open the door to go inside and meet the rest of Delta for the exfil. 

July 2015

Where you fight counts for a lot. If you have the high ground, you have the advantage. But the shortest distance is a straight line. It saved time and was easier on injuries to push through the shallow ravine along the creek than to climb over the hillside. It was the rock breaking into dust, shattered by the strafe of high velocity rounds from above, that made Allison regret taking the easy way out.

"Her I could see," Jack's voice echoed off the rock around them, as he skipped down the side of the hill. "Something about her was always a little too good for us. But, you Bingo? ...Not you. You're a lifer, like me. Whole divisions under your command...and look at you now."

"What? You don't like surprises?" Rumlow quipped.

"All I can think is maybe that knock on your head was a little harder than we thought," Jack shook his head. "Because I'm racking my brain and can't figure out what you get out of helping her."

"I'm flattered you still think about me," Allison smirked.

"You're cuteness wore off a long time ago, Princess," he sneered her way.

"You're still calling me Princess," she pointed out. "You can't be that mad."

"I'm not mad, just disappointed," he growled, before turning his focus back to Rumlow. "This looks pretty bad for you, Bingo," Rollins noted, his weapon set into his shoulder and leveled just below his eye at Brock.

"Doesn't look too bad from this side," Brock shrugged, panning his gaze along Jack and the three HYDRA soldiers set up beside him to meet Allison's eyes doing the same. "Seen worse, won them all."

Allison set her sights on a soldier a step closer to her and Brock than the others, shifting her eyes to watch the agent beside him. Rumlow had his own target selected from the pair of men in front of him. She figured it was probably Jack. She didn't have any benchmark for the other three soldiers, but they were with Jack and Rollins was good. He wouldn't surround himself with subpar teammates, but his ego might not let him pick partners that were better than him. Presuming he'd be the biggest threat, taking him out first was the wisest choice for Rumlow.

"Give it up," Jack groaned, with a tired cock of his head. "You're outgunned. You know we already have the rest of the traitors. There's no version of this you win."

"I'd rather take my chances," Rumlow persisted. "We both know, there are no prisoners with HYDRA."

"There'll be one," Jack corrected, tipping the muzzle of his rifle toward Allison and she saw Brock's gaze follow. "They still want their replacement." He nodded toward Rumlow. "You, on the other hand, there's a standing kill order on you. Looks like I'm up for promotion."

"So, what are you waiting for, huh, Jack?" Brock pressed.

"You know me," he smirked, "always the sentimental one. I figured I'd give you a chance to surrender, for old time's sake."

Rumlow chuckled, shaking his head. "You always were a softy, but I'm gonna have to decline."

The HYDRA agents advanced another pair of steps and Allison felt the rise of the rock face behind her heel, as she withdrew a few inches with Brock. She tightened the butt of her rifle into her shoulder and she saw the flinch in the step of her second target. She would save him, banking on a moment's worth of hesitation from him when she engaged his neighbor. It would be all she needed to get a bead on him, after taking down her primary target. The only worry she had was Brock. Granted, his wound was to his non-dominant side, but it had bled a lot and the building July heat and running for their lives wasn't helping. He might not be able to transition to the second target in time. She worked some calculations in her head, contemplating the feasibility of getting a third tango eliminated before someone took out one of them.

"Ah, what the hell," Jack shrugged, with a fiendish smirk. "I gotta ask. Curiosity, you know? ...Why?"

"I'd explain it all to you, Jack," Rumlow offered, "but I don't think a guy like you could understand."

"Don't say I wasn't fair," Rollins scowled. "You had your chance."

Allison winked down her sights, catching the subtle adjustment in Jack's grip on his rifle. Time slowed, as she eased back the trigger behind her finger. A shot rang out, but it wasn't hers. Not yet.


	47. Chapter 47

Jan 2014

It took a lot for Allison to raise her head from the cradle of her arms on her desk. She was never one to be bothered by colds or other minor illnesses. She couldn't recall the last time she saw a doctor for a complaint that wasn't a job related injury. So, when Allison found herself saddled with a pounding headache, chills from a lingering fever, and a generally achy, and occasionally nauseated, feeling in every inch of her, she was less than enthused to be riding out the back end of her squad's rotation for duty. While she prayed for a quiet few days to pass without an unexpected sortie, she popped over the counter medication and hid in her office, when she could, hoping to get over the bug soon.

It technically wasn't hiding, though. When she could muster the energy and focus, Allison had paperwork to finish as a fire team leader for part of the quarterly assessments for her squad. She just didn't make the effort to leave her office for anything else. If she could have gotten away with it, she wouldn't have answered the knock on her door at all. As it was, she was dreading the meeting she was scheduled to attend in a half hour with Rollins and the other team and squad leaders from STRIKE. Allison took as deep a breath as her stuffed nose would allow and settled back into her chair, as Rollins stepped in.

"Holy shit," he sarcastically marveled, approaching her desk. Jack sat down in one of the empty chairs in front of her, giving her a critical once over. "Still sick? I heard you looked like the living dead today, but- Fuck. That's an understatement."

Allison leaned back a little further, kicking her boots up onto the corner of her desk to cross her ankles. "You're such a charmer, Jack," Allison feebly smiled, with a small clearing of her sore throat. "Did you walk all the way down the hall just to pay me compliments?"

He had come in with a brown paper bag in his hand that was resting on his knee as he sat. "Just got back from the range," he told her. Jack reached out to set the bag on her desk, as far across as he could stretch without actually leaving his seat. "Came to pick up the paperwork, while Bingo's out of town, and drop this off."

"If it's a severed head..." Allison began, dragging the bag to her and unrolling the top to peer inside. 

"It's just soup," Rollins smirked. "Sorry to let you down."

Despite her congestion, she could almost detect the warm notes of chicken soup sneaking their way out of the styrofoam container hidden under the pile of napkins and saltine crackers. "Poisoned?" she smiled, with a discerning squint in one eye.

"Of course," Jack shrugged, as if she should know better than to ask. He cracked a smile and moved on. "How are the stats coming?"

Allison crinkled the bag closed again, putting it aside for later. "Ready for the printer," she said, reaching over to click a couple of icons on her screen. The printer warmed up on the long, wooden cabinet behind her and Allison asked, "Having fun pretending to be the big boss, _Lieutenant_ Commander Rollins?" 

Rollins' head ticked back and his shoulders shook with his suppressed chuckle. "Has it's perks," he nodded. "But Bingo can keep all the fuckin' paperwork and bullshit."

She smiled, considering Jack's well-known distaste for the administrative side of command and the luck it was for Brock to be in California for new weapons demos for the week, instead of on hand to maybe catch her cold. Glancing over her shoulder at the progress of her printing, Allison's chuckle stirred up an uncomfortable cough. She cleared her throat, when the small fit passed, and quipped, "You always did get off on telling people what to do."

He pointed at her, giving her a knowing look, saying, "Easy there, smartass. I bring you soup, out of the kindness of my cold, dead heart and, now, I'm doing you a favor, coming down here instead of making you come to the briefing room at 1600."

"I don't have to go?" she checked, simultaneously skeptical and hopeful.

"I don't want your diseased ass hacking and breathing all over me," he scoffed, standing up to walk around her desk when the printer stopped.

"Oh, thank god," Allison sighed, relieved she could sit in her office and continue her slow march toward death without interruption.

Rollins gathered the pages off the printer, giving them a quick once over as he fanned them in his hands. "Just eat your damned soup and keep whatever plague you're patient zeroing for to yourself, alright?" he told her, looking down at her with a crooked grin.

Allison puckered her lips. "Give us a kiss, Jack," she teased.

"Don't even try it." He reached down, palming his hand over her head, and gave her a soft push away. "I'll call the fuckin' CDC to quarantine your ass, if you do."

"You'd be stuck in there with me," she winked, stifling the small cough her laughter provoked.

Jack grabbed an empty file folder from the box beside the printer and shuffled the papers inside, as he checked, "You're what, four more days in rotation?" Instead of speaking, Allison shook her head, with a pathetic frown, and held up her hand, splaying out all five fingers for her answer. Rollins hummed and nodded, thoughtfully. Walking past her, he gave her arm a gentle smack with the folder, telling her, "Let me know if you get an activation before then." He was headed for the door, pointing back at her with the file, and added, "I'll pick up any ops for you with your guys, 'til you're back on your feet again. You know my numbers. Call me."

"What would Libby think," Allison mischievously wondered, picking at her nail, "me calling you in the middle of the night, for a... _duty_ call?"

Jack snorted, shaking his head. "That's cute, but she knows better than to ask questions. Even if it's you calling in the middle of the night."

"Huh," she marveled. "Well, ain't I special." 

"You're somethin'," he sarcastically agreed. "If you're still alive by Friday, game's at my place, since Bingo's gone. Feel better, you plague rat."

"You do love me, don't you, Jack?" she smiled, her head lolling to the side to see him open the door.

Rollins opened his mouth to say something, taking a moment to look back at her, but stopped. He snorted, shaking his head at her, and settled on, "Shut up and eat your fuckin' soup, Princess."

"I love you, too, Jack," Allison called after him, as he stepped out of her office.

Before the door shut, she smiled to herself, hearing him yell back, "Shut up. Soup."

July 2015

The shot came from Allison's 8 o'clock. She instinctually ducked and moved, taking a shot at the soldier she'd previously lined up in her sights. As Allison moved for cover, rock and dirt exploded from the impact of bullets hurled in her general direction. She sent back the same indiscriminant fire, as she slid in behind a wide tree. Allison didn't know where that first shot came from, but she saw Jack fall. She did a quick peek around the tree trunk, trying to get a bearing on her next target and looking for Brock. What she saw in that fraction of a moment didn't do her much good. She only spotted a location for one HYDRA agent, before bark was splintered and went flying from rounds sent her way. She didn't have eyes on Rumlow, but she didn't see him downed in the last place she saw him either.

That unseen, single shot had set off a fire fight. Allison came around the other side of her tree, quickly, taking a shot at the soldier she had found. He was well hidden, behind his own tree. It took precious seconds to get her target to reveal himself again, but Allison found her mark. With her HYDRA agent dispatched, she moved again, taking advantage of no one currently shooting her way to scramble up the hillside for a better vantage. Proned out atop a rise, about twenty feet above the action, Allison scanned the forest for Rumlow, Rollins, and any friendlies who may have made that first shot.

Whatever happened to Jack, it wasn't a crippling hit, mostly likely caught him in his armor. He wasn't where she had seen him go down. She found Brock, sat up against a tree amongst some rock and reloading his rifle, as he watched the open ground beside him for any incoming threats. Allison looked down her sights, seeing a glimpse of a HYDRA uniform along the edge of a stand of trees. She shot once, just barely winging the arm of the soldier in hiding. It drew him out, as the agent opened fire toward the hillside, trying to locate where the shot came from. With Allison baiting the soldier, Rumlow tilted up and sent a burst of rounds into the clump of narrow trees and took the shooter out. Shifting backward along the ground, realizing she might be a little too exposed, Allison checked her world and caught view of another team advancing and reloaded.

"Contact, right!" she called down to Brock, trying to count the shapes moving fast through the woods. "2 o'clock. Squad incoming."

Brock looked up the hill toward her, giving a nod as his show of understanding. He leaned his good shoulder into the tree behind him to push himself back up to his feet. Allison gauged the troops' speed and figured they had about a minute before the reinforcements arrived. She looked again, still unable to find Jack. Giving up the position of advantage, Allison slid back down the hill and met Brock.

She eyed him quickly, her concern for his condition growing at the flinch of pain in his expression and his paling skin. "I can't see Jack," Allison warned him. "No ID on that first shooter. We've got less than a minute before they're on us."

Brock nodded, sucking in an uneven breath. "Keep moving," he told her.

"Here," Allison said, taking the pistol off her side and holding it out to him. It'd be easier for him to wield.

She gave his arm a tug and Rumlow slung his rifle behind him. Hooking his right arm over the back of her neck, Brock settled his grip on her handgun, as she wrapped her left arm around his back to help bear some of his weight. She didn't think he could keep up without her help. With a fast look over her shoulder, Allison caught a glimpse of the advancing HYDRA agents. Just when she was thinking of everything she would give for a grenade, a claymore, or anything else, Brock and Allison skidded to a halt, raising weapons at the soldier who skipped down the hillside and into their path.

Allison could feel her heart beating in her throat, her rifle tucked into her side and pointed ahead. Brock seemed to have found a surge of adrenaline, quickly moving his arm over Allison's head to lock out his aim at the threat. He shifted a half-step, edging himself between Allison and the rifle barrel pointed their way. A round of gunfire broke the standoff.

Brock slumped forward to his knees. Allison felt a punch in her back and spun on her heel, sending a line of bullets across the woods behind her and staggering back a few steps. Beside her now, Barnes took a precision shot and dropped the ambushing shooter with one round. Allison crouched down, reaching her left hand down to Brock and keeping her M4 leveled to his six. Rumlow grabbed a fistful of her sleeve at her shoulder to hold on to, with her pistol still in his other hand, as Allison pulled him up to his feet. Brock hissed, pressing his wounded arm into his side.

Eyes scanning the distance, Allison urged him, "Hold on. We're almost there."

She hazarded a glance at Rumlow, when he took a step and fell into her side. Barnes had watch over the trees and Allison was grateful the balaclava made Brock indistinguishable from the other HYDRA agents. Allison dragged Rumlow to the nearby relative safety of some fallen rock. She helped him sit up and looked him over, gingerly pulling his left forearm away from his body. The round had sliced through Brock's side, splitting him open just above his hip and below the line of his armor. Barnes took a knee behind an uprooted tree. Allison moved Rumlow's arm back for him to reapply pressure to the gouge. His eyes dropped and Allison made quick work of stripping off her gear and shedding her outer uniform shirt to pack over his wound, using the edge of his vest to hold it in place. She reached for the medical pouch at Rumlow's back, but he grabbed her wrist with his good hand, shaking his head, as if the effort would be wasted. 

A spray of gunfire fractured wood and threw up dirt around them. Allison ducked, huddling herself over Brock. Barnes selected a target and fired. He leaned back, taking cover for himself and scolding Allison to put her vest back on. Allison did as she was told, slipping on and resecuring her armor. She went back to treating Rumlow, finding the package of quick clot in his gear and tearing it open with her teeth. Barnes resumed firing, shifting to a lower position and using the tree in front of his as a platform for his rifle. The sound of incoming fire began to diminish, as Barnes systematically took his shots. Allison muttered a profanity at Rumlow's wound still bleeding into her shirt, despite the use of the full package of clotting agent.

The direction of fire changed, a shot coming from the back of her instead of at her front. Allison barely caught the sight of Rollins and another soldier coming in to flank their position. By the time she did, there was only a split second to take up her rifle from the ground beside Brock. In that moment, Rumlow had raised the pistol he still gripped tight, firing several shots in rapid succession and buying her precious time. She fell back on her hip, bringing her aim up and hitting the nameless agent while Jack dipped behind a tree. She thought she saw the pink mist of a bullet finding its mark on his leg. She hoped she was right.

"Are you hit?" Barnes called out, still suppressing the reinforcement agents that had trailed them.

Scooting in the dirt to the other side of Rumlow, trying to get an eye on Rollins, Allison felt the painful burn through her left bicep and along her ribs, the hallmark of searing rounds that got too close, but not close enough. "I'm good," she lied.

"What is it?" he asked, after another pull of his trigger.

"It's Rollins," she said, as much as for Barnes' benefit as Rumlow's.

"He's not alone," Barnes assured her. He eyed the man he didn't know was Rumlow, lying beside Allison and breathing ragged breaths. "It's not far, but he'll slow us down," he nodded toward Brock.

Allison shifted her gaze from Barnes to Rumlow and back. "We're not leaving him here."

"Copy that," Barnes said into his mic. He turned his watch out to the woods. "More are coming," he told them. "We have to go."

There was a hand at the back of her arm and Allison turned to Brock, as he pushed her away. "Go on."

Allison twisted away from his touch. "You're not the boss of me," she told him. Taking a quick survey of the land, she added, "Not off the clock, anyway."

"Jesus fuckin Chr-" Barnes growled, turning his weapon on Rumlow. "He's dead weight."

Allison took aim back at Barnes. Her eyes leveled at him, sending a fiercer warning than words could. Barnes' own expression ticked between confusion and outrage. He could almost look insulted by the threat, if he weren't so clearly angry. The moment to try and explain was lost, when a fragmentation grenade fell into the midst of their shelter.

Barnes dove away and Allison kicked at the grenade with her boot heel, throwing herself back over Rumlow, abandoning her rifle from her grip to fold an arm over his head and the other over hers. Dirt and debris rained down on them and Allison felt a new sting in her arm and a sensation of warmth. She inched back, inspecting Brock, while his eyes drifted over the speckling of fresh shrapnel cuts on her bare forearms. Allison shook it off, insisting she was fine and worried over him until she was certain she didn't find any new injuries on him. Allison checked over her shoulder, looking for Barnes and seeing him advancing to a flanking position, as a new batch of reinforcements fanned out to Jack's barking orders.

Allison took the gun from Brock's hand, reloading it with its last magazine off her belt. She tipped back, stretching out for her rifle and telling him, "Stay down. Wait here."

Crouched low, she made her way around the rocks and tree they used for cover. Allison made a break for another stand of trees, while Barnes held the attention of the incoming soldiers from his new position several yards away. She stopped, taking a shot to drop an enemy agent before moving to the next piece of cover. Barnes was doing more than his fair share, as the soldiers' focus of fire was on him. She didn't know if they didn't see her or just forgot, but it gave her the chance to eliminate one more agent, before she she met her objective on the edge of the fire fight.

July 2015

"I can't believe how much people pay for this. I mean, it's good, but still."

Allison snorted, shaking her head. She took a step forward, in the line for the ATM, and looked over at Barnes, to shrug, "Well, you're still drinking it. What does that say about you?"

"I didn't pay for it," he pointed out, before taking another sip of his caramel frappuccino from Starbucks.

"Yeah," she exaggeratedly agreed, playfully offended. " _I_ did. When are you gonna start contributing to this little endeavor of ours, anyway, ya freeloading bum?"

Watching the man in front of them walk away from the machine, Barnes frowned, "I _contribute_. Just two nights ago, I broke two necks, shot three guys, and did most of the driving to get here. Tell me again, who's not contributing?"

Selecting the checking account attached to her ATM card, Allison laughed. "That's your job," she reminded him. "Here I am, digging in to my pockets, putting a roof over your head and catching you up on the best of what the modern world has to offer, and you-" She stopped, looking back at him, while the machine dispensed her cash. "You sit there, sipping overpriced coffee treats and thinking stacking bodies makes us even for all I do for you."

"You're the one who told me to try this one," he reminded her, with an indifferent shrug. "I was just going to get a regular coffee."

"It's not about who ordered what kind of coffee," Allison chuckled, pocketing her money and shaking her head. She picked up her own icey beverage from the ledge of the ATM and headed back to the car with Barnes. "I'm just giving you shit for never _buying_ it."

"Well, HYDRA didn't exactly pay me for what I used to do," Barnes noted. "What? You want me to start robbing banks so I can buy the coffee next time?"

"No," she shook her head, taking a sip of her drink. "I think we've got enough going on, right now. We don't need another hobby."

"So, who's Ellen Weber, anyway?" he asked.

"Nobody," Allison shrugged, waiting on the curb for Barnes to walk around and unlock the car from his side. "Just somebody I made up to open this account."

" _This_ one? How many accounts you have?" Barnes chuckled, dropping into the driver's seat.

Putting her drink into the cup holder with one hand and grabbing the seatbelt with the other, she told him, "I used to have 3 more. One was actually mine and the others used cover IDs. After the mess in DC, the accounts linked to me were frozen by Homeland. But, since this one was a dummy account I made on my own from the get go..."

"What did you need four accounts for?" he wondered, pulling into traffic.

"One for payroll," Allison explained, "two were on non-official covers for work related travel, and the last one was my emergency fund."

"Your 'running from the government fund'?" he quipped.

"That's the one," she winked.

"So, how much you got before we have to fall back on robbery?" Barnes smirked.

"We've got plenty," Allison assured him, with a confident smile and nod. "We can keep going like this for a looong time." She watched him take another sip of his drink. "And you can keep ordering the expensive coffees, too."

Barnes nodded, smiling as he swallowed and put his cup back down in the holder. "What even made you think of forging another account like that?" he asked. "Not that I'm complaining about it paying for motels and stuff. Beats sleeping in vacant buildings and shit, like I used to do."

"A failure to plan..." she shrugged. "Didn't think I'd ever use it. I thought I'd just keep stashing money over there, like a savings account, until I retired."

"So much for your retirement plan," Barnes chuckled and Allison agreed with a laugh and nod into her drink. "Anyway, thanks for digging in to your pockets, Kate."

Allison smiled, lifting her cup to him. "Thanks for helping break necks and shoot people."

"Happy to," Barnes nodded, with a wide smile.

"And so am I," she smiled.

"So, what's next?" he checked, following her direction to enter the highway.

"There's a facility about 70 miles from here," Allison told him, reaching to pull a road map from her backpack in the backseat. "It'll be the biggest one we've hit yet. It's research and command, about 100 security forces, few dozen techs and researchers, small airfield for Quinjets and helos for an airborne detachment housed there. Mid to high rank officers run the base. Besides whatever they work on there in the labs, the facility is mostly used as a waypoint for troop transfers and mission support."

"That's a hell of a big risk for two people," Barnes considered, giving her a quick glance as he drove.

"The bigger the risk, the bigger the reward," she offered, studying the map to begin finding in- and egress roads to the facility hidden in the Pennsylvania woods. "Besides," she added, with a smirk, "against you and me? They don't stand a chance."

"Looks like rain," he noted. "Clouds are coming in from the West."

Allison ducked to look out the top of the windshield and shrugged, studying the sky. "Lower visibility. It'll help with the recon tonight." She straightened up, giving him a confident nod. "This'll be a piece of cake."


	48. Chapter 48

Dec 2013

"Who's the girl? She's pretty."

Jack lifted his chin, forgetting the money in his hand to look over to where Allison inclined her head. "Oh," he distractedly said, returning to thumbing out a couple of bucks to tip the bartender. "Libby."

"Libby?" Allison repeated, trying it out. "That sounds a little sweet for you. Giving up on girls with names that sound like strippers?"

Rollins shrugged, pocketing his cash. "Need a normal one every now and then," he reasoned. "Balances out the crazy."

"Thought you liked 'em crazy," Allison teased, giving him a nudge in the arm, from her perch on the bar stool.

"It's getting a little old," Rollins admitted, with a quiet laugh.

"You mean," she corrected, "you're getting a little old? Can't keep up?"

"Oh, I keep up just fine," he winked, taking a sip of his whiskey double. Swallowing, Rollins shook his head. "Nice dress, by the way. BDUs out at the cleaners?"

Allison laughed. "Believe it or not, Jack, I'm a girl. We wear dresses, sometimes."

Jack hummed, with a nod. "Just wondering where you're hiding your weapon," he mused, with a fiendish grin. 

"Eyes up here, Jack," she told him, pointing a finger at her face to drag his curious gaze off her figure. "I'm not dumb enough to shoot myself in the tits. So, don't even think that's where it is."

"Leave it to the imagination then?" Rollins suggested.

"Whatever gets you through the night," Allison shrugged, smiling in front of her drink.

"How come you and me were never a thing?" he wondered, giving her a leisurely once over.

"You mean, besides you never asking?" she snorted.

Rollins hummed, with a single nod. "A pretty thing like you," he considered, "and so absolutely lethal. You could pull a man's beating heart right out of his chest and he wouldn't even complain, but only because it was you."

"Thank you, Jack, but rules are rules," she reminded him, giving a subtle lift of her chin to guide Rollins' focus toward Rumlow across the room. "Command frowns on fraternization. And I've got too much to lose."

"So, where's you're banker then, or whatever the hell he is?" Jack asked.

"He had a conference to attend," Allison casually explained, before taking the last drink of her cocktail.

"Probably enjoying his vacation from you," Rollins smirked.

"So, Libby. How're you getting her to stick around, again?" Allison asked, jerking her thumb towards Jack's date. "Shock collar?"

"Cute," he snorted. "So, what's he see in you anyway?"

"See," she began, with a discerning squint in her eye, "you're trying to get under my skin, but, the sad truth for you is, you won't be getting under anything of mine, Jack." With a wicked smile, Allison added, "But you are more fun when you're drinking."

"Smartass," Rollins chuckled, proudly, into his drink. "You mean to tell me he actually likes you mouthin' off and pushing him around?"

"Actaully, he was in the Navy," Allison casually noted. "He gives as good as he gets. He keeps up."

"A squid, huh?" Jack considered, cocking up a thoughtful brow. "Think that makes him tough enough to tolerate all your lip?"

"Ohh, Jack," Allison smiled, giving him a soft pat on the arm. "It just might be my lips that keep him around. But you'll never know."

Rollins chuckled at her wink, shaking his head. "Careful you don't fall from that pedestal you got yourself on, Princess. It's a pretty far drop."

"Honestly, Jack," she playfully sighed, "I don't bring him around because I don't want you to get jealous. I mean, he's not even here and you can't stop thinking about him. Imagine if you actually met."

"Right," Rollins scoffed, with a wicked smile. "I'd break him in two."

"I don't know, Jack," Allison teased. "He's a pretty tough guy."

Jack put his hand down on the bar, leaning in close to look Allison in the eye and quietly promise, "Whoever he is, he ain't bigger and badder than me, sweetheart."

"Hate to break it to you, Jackie," Allison purred, with pouting lips, giving Rollins a once over and running her finger along the back of his tie to grab it by the end, "but he'd be the baddest motherfucker in the valley." She snapped her jaws at his chin, slow to bring her lidded eyes back up to his from his mouth and smiling back at him.

Rollins nodded, moving back slowly and smoothing a hand down his tie to loose it from around her finger, taking another sip of whiskey. "Let me know when you want to trade up."

Allison shook her head, grinning, as she watched Rollins pass Brock with a clap on the arm as greeting. She frowned, quickly, at seeing the small wince that crossed Brock's face, still healing from whatever beat him down last week. The two men exchanged a nod and Rollins took his place with a small group of Delta teammates and their significant others. Allison pushed away her empty glass and nodded as her hello to Rumlow, as he approached the bar.

"What was that about?" Brock asked, edging his shoulder into the bar to stand beside her and flicking his hand up to catch the bartender's attention, with a flash of a few bills folded in his fingertips.

"Just playing with Jack," Allison smiled, with an innocent shrug.

"You know you bother the shit outta him doing that, right?" Rumlow checked, glancing down the bar to see the progress of the bar keep.

Allison looked from Brock to Rollins and back again. "You're kiddin' me," she insisted.

Rumlow shook his head, before turning his attention to the bartender to order his drink and another for Allison. When he shifted his gaze back to Allison, she was still giving him a skeptical look. Brock snuffled a laugh, a small smirk in the corner of his mouth, as he set down the tip money on the bar.

"Jack?" she double checked, pointing a finger toward him across the room, where Allison watched him slip an arm around the slender waist of the brunette he'd brought along to the annual Christmas party.

Sipping his whiskey, Brock's brow rose to emphasize his nod. "Jack," he confirmed.

"No way," Allison doubted. "He-...No."

"Yes," Rumlow nodded, again.

Allison grabbed her new drink and was on Brock's heel, when he stepped away from the bar. She touched his elbow to get him to stop, now that they were away from any prying ears, asking, "Since when?"

Brock shrugged. "Probably since you got here," he figured.

"What?" she wondered. "Tonight?"

"No," he chuckled. "Since you joined STRIKE." Allison's jaw slacked and Rumlow went on. "You think I'm the only one that ever noticed that ass 'a yours, or anything else about you, darlin'? You're surrounded by a bunch of neanderthals. Not a lot of female operators wandering around in this division, in case you hadn't noticed." He seemed to recall something, amending his answer to add, "Actually, I think we both clocked you in the cafeteria, when you were still in Clandestine Services."

"Okay, but Fender from Bravo is adorable," Allison argued. "Hell, Romanoff. You can't beat hot redhead."

Brock shrugged. "Maybe," he conceded. "But Fender, even Penn, ain't you. And Romanoff is made of stone, kiddo. Skills, rep, and looks. _And_ you give him a run for his money an' don't shy away from his shit? You beat 'em all, sweetheart."

Allison had to laugh. "I wouldn't have thought- Huh," Allison considered. "I mean, we're always teasing each other, yeah, but there's nothing to it. God, nobody actually thinks-"

"People've talked," he nodded. "Everybody thinks you've got that banker. Aside from that, they joke you and Jack are like an old married couple that tolerates each other for the sake of the kids. But the way he looks out for you? There's probably some chauvinistic joke to be made in there, about you being just a defenseless girl in the boy's club to explain it, but nobody'd ever say it, because they know better than to fuck with Jack and piss him off."

"I still don't believe you," Allison shook her head. "How come I never heard any of this?"

"Because, I don't tolerate that kind of mouth runnin' on my teams," Brock said, firmly. "It's disruptive for morale. And no matter what anyone says or thinks about him, Jack's a professional. He doesn't shit where he eats. He's resigned himself to just keeping a better eye on you than he does for most." He inclined his head toward her, reminding her, "Like he did taking those shots from Nikolov for you last month. That's why I don't worry when you two end up on ops together. I know he'll take care of you.

"Besides, he respects you too much to do anything while you're both on STRIKE and you have your banker. He'd never admit any of it, anyway, except to me," Rumlow told her and took a drink. "But nobody gets a rise out of him like you do, beautiful." Brock chuckled, giving a sweep of his head. "And then I gotta listen to him bitch about it."

"Stop," Allison balked. "Seriously?"

Brock nodded. "Whenever he's not stringin' some girl along and you two do your little back 'n forth. Drives him fuckin' nuts."

Allison eyed Brock for a moment. "Holy shit," she quietly marveled. She chuckled and apologized, saying, "I'm sorry. I had no idea and that you had to listen to- Oh, my god." She winced. "What is that even like?"

"Awkward as fuck," he told her and Allison couldn't help but laugh. "You bother him almost as bad as you bother me, sweetheart."

"Oh, yeah?" Allison mused, quirking up a brow. "Ya know, he offered, if I ever wanna trade up from the banker..."

"Watch it," Rumlow playfully said, raising an eyebrow and a warning finger off the side of his glass.

Allison gave him a mischievous smirk. "Jealous already?"

"Of the thought of you leaving me for Jack?" he scoffed. "Hardly."

"Okay," she considered, "so all the nights at Barny's, the poker nights, or wherever, and us with all the hate flirting...How come you let that go on all this time?"

Rumlow snorted away from his drink, nodding at her curiosity. "Because it's funny as hell, for everyone to watch." He pointed, straightening a finger off of his glass at her again. "You think so, too. Besides," he shrugged, "Jack never minds you hanging around; says it improves the view. And he's right. Better than that, it gives me all that extra time to see you." He thoughtfully cocked his head. "Granted, I'll never be able to touch you or anything, but still, you're there."

"So, you're never gonna be even a little jealous?" she playfully pouted.

Brock took a small step forward, telling her, "You wanna play games? See if the spark is still there; if you can get a rise out of _me_? Tryin' to see if I'll prove something to you later tonight? Is that it?" He smiled. "C'mon. You know better than that. Besides, if he ever stopped following the rules and tried something, whether or not you were both still on team, I'd straighten him out real fast."

"Kinda takes the fun out of it," Allison quipped, "if it's not making you jealous."

"Go easy on the poor guy," Rumlow chuckled. "He doesn't know who he's up against."

"Wouldn't want to break his heart," she smiled, "and get on his bad side."

"His bad side? Nah, Jack's harmless to you," Brock told her. "You're already in. But still, if you think I'd ever let that animal put a paw on you? Baby, you got another thing comin'."

July 2015

Allison came up on his blind side, driving her heel down into the back edge of Jack's knee and taking a swipe down at his head with the butt of her rifle. She missed. With Rollins' tumble forward from his buckled knee, he rolled out on his shoulder, turning over to take a pot shot with his rifle as his back hit the ground. Allison flinched away, kicking into the barrel of his gun and knocking the weapon down while she took aim with hers. Jack wasn't done, ramming his boot into her gut and doubling her over, the blow taking the air out of her. 

With a stumbling step, Allison found herself too close to maneuver the long gun for a shot. She let it fall to hang from the sling, drawing the pistol from her thigh, as she dropped to a knee and coughed for a breath. Jack had pulled the knife from his boot and had already sprung back up from the ground. He lunged at Allison, an animalistic growl in his throat and hate in his eyes, as he took hold of her gun hand and she grabbed his knife wielding arm, holding each other at bay. He had the advantage again, pressing her down to the ground as she tried to push back up against his weight, despite the burning pain in her injuries.

"Traitor," Rollins spat. 

Her ankle turned beneath her, as he kicked down into her leg. Allison groaned at the pain, falling to her hip. His size over hers and his brute strength over her wounded arms forced her down to her back. Jack trapped her forearm under his knee, his left hand wrestling for the grip of the gun, while he leaned down onto his right arm, inching the knife point close enough to press into her throat. The weight pressing her down shoved whatever shrapnel was in her shoulder blade deeper and she tried to roll her shoulder away and pull back from under his knee, but she was trapped.

"Nobody's getting you out," Rollins promised. "Nobody's taking bullets for you. Not anymore."

Allison rammed her knee into his side, but only succeeded in interrupting his grip fighting hers for her gun and relieving the cool metal of the knife from her skin for a moment. With her hand immobilized under his leg, he smirked, twisting the pistol free and tossing it aside to clasp his newly freed hand over his other to send the knife down again as Allison flexed to try and stop him. She jerked her head to the side and, with another kick and a shift of her arm, the knife missed its mark and bore into the earth beside her ear.

"Go on," he sadistically invited, clamping one hand down on her throat and withdrawing his knife from the ground with the other. "Talk your way out of this one. Beg. Beg for me to save your life again; for another chance."

"No," Allison told him, through grit teeth, as she tried to hold him back. "Not from you."

Jack wasn't finished. He drew back, his fist wrapped tight around the hilt of his knife, sending a vicious jab across her face. In the dazed moment that followed, Rollins yanked the mask off her head. Allison blinked the spots from her vision and found her focus again.

He bent down, his breath hot on her skin and face barely an inch from hers, and menacingly hissed, "There's no replacement, now." Rollins palmed his hand over the side of her head, pressing her face into the ground to speak in her ear. "Just another casualty in the escape attempt." Allison felt his sweat drip onto her neck and mix with hers. "All that time we wasted on you," he sneered, a flash of what looked like regret passing in his eyes and, just as quickly, replaced with anger again. "Such a shame, Princess."

"Fuck you," she spat, struggling under his grasp to tilt her head out of his grip and wrestle herself free. The nickname, that used to be his term of endearment for her, turned her stomach now, as she felt the edge of the blade rock threateningly along her neck.

"You ungrateful bitch!" Jack bit back at her. "I believed in you, 'til you disappeared from Ithaca," he told her, his voice dripping with venom. "You had me convinced, like everyone else, 'til then." Allison jerked, trying to buck him off of her, to no avail. "You could've been great. The things we could'a done," Rollins seethed, the knife in his hand pressed a little harder to remind her it was there and momentarily stall her latest struggle, leaning to look her in the eye. "We let you in. We took care of you;  _protected_ you...and this is how you repay us?!" He exhaled, bowing, resting his forehead into her hair, as he growled to her ear, almost pained, " _Every_ thing we did for you- What _I_ did for you?" His tone softened a level, wounded, and his head shook slowly on hers. "What I would have done...for you." There was a moment's pause, before he pressed a rough kiss to her temple and gave her head an extra shove down into the dirt, the hatred back in his voice. "Now, you're just another example of how weak SHIELD always was. Hail HYDRA."

Rollins easily wrenched his arm free of her grasp, raising the knife to stab down. Allison clawed up at his face, with her free hand, a last effort to go out with a fight. Jack's left hand caught hers, twisting it to hold across his chest and shift it out of the way of his next strike. Time slowed to a crawl, as Allison glared back up at Rollins, defiantly, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of seeing the fear in her. But it was Jack's expression that made her heart stop. 

Rollins' face blanked. The savage look in his eyes and the maniacal pull in the side of his mouth dissolved in an instant. And, suddenly, everything in the world came back to her senses. She felt his weight break down onto her hip and the force leave his arm, saw the spray of red mist from the side of his neck, and heard the cracks in the air that accompanied the bullets breaking into the vulnerable side of his armor and into his chest. She looked over in the direction the shots came from and saw Rumlow tip his injured shoulder into the tree nearby to steady himself, her pistol in his hand still on target, in case Jack wasn't through. Allison pulled her arm out from under Rollins' leg and took a deep breath to push him off of her. She saw Brock's head snap backward, as his chest arched outward, pushed forward by the punch of the shot into his back.


	49. Chapter 49

July 2015

Allison kicked Jack's leg off of her and scrambled to her feet. She sprinted the short gap from her to Rumlow, catching him in her arms before he completely collapsed. Her hand ran blindly over his back, breathing a short sigh of relief when she felt the round lodged in the plate of his armor.

"It's okay," she assured him, and herself, hushed and with a small, quick nod. "It didn't get through."

If there was a sound to warn her, she missed it. Surprised by the sudden yank on her arm, dragging her back and to her feet, Allison spun in the grasp to see Barnes scowling down at Rumlow. It finally registered that Rumlow had removed his balaclava and his identity was exposed. She figured he'd done it for his comfort. His breathing was more labored than she had seen it before and Brock tipped from his knees and the brace of his hand to fall back on his hip, staring back up at Barnes. Rumlow's eyes ticked over to Allison, settling there for a moment while he swallowed a breath to try and steady himself again.

There was a pause between Brock, Allison, and Barnes. A moment where time seemed to stop. But while nothing in the world moved for that brief second, Allison's mind raced. Barnes was the only possible shooter in the area. He must have seen Brock's uncovered face and pulled the trigger from behind him. Seeing Allison and another body on the ground, while Rumlow stood nearby with a pistol raised in his hand, it'd be easy to mistake him as a threat.

Barnes had pulled her away from Rumlow. Maybe he only saw her go toward Brock and him come into her arms. If he only saw Allison struggle to the ground under Rumlow's dead weight, and in her dissolving strength, to keep him from falling too hard, it could be easily misinterpreted. To him, maybe, Barnes saw it as a fight. Maybe it was instinct for Barnes to pull her away and put her back behind his shoulder. But it was survival that had Rumlow's pistol aimed up at Barnes.

Rumlow had learned everything about the Asset, knowing there might be a time he was broken and couldn’t be fixed. She had seen his assestments in the tablet she took from his office and read the contingency plans. He could dismantle Barnes, even without the trigger word. He only needed one shot and Brock always found his mark. He had been a Horseman, back in his own day, before taking command of the STRIKE division. He had been the Asset's handler and knew his moves as well as his own. He had always qualified as an expert marksman. But something stopped him.

In that fraction of time, she read something in Brock. That he had recognized Barnes' defensive posture in front of Allison, a damsel who didn’t need saving from him. It was in his eyes when they met hers. Rumlow knew there was someone to replace him; someone who would keep her safe at all costs. And just as suddenly, there was a tick of a relief at the corner of Brock’s lips. The flinch of expression hardened Barnes' frame, his metal arm stiffening to inch her further back, as his gun hand locked out. 

Barnes was misreading Brock's tell for a threat, overlooking the start of Rumlow's aim withdrawing. His body broadcasted his next move and Allison shouldered her weight into Barnes, before he could squeeze the trigger. She edged past him, sliding down to her knees and angling her body to shelter Brock, while Barnes faltered a step to regain his balance. Allison took the gun from Rumlow's failing grip, setting it aside by her leg and, she hoped, effectively removing the danger from Barnes' mind.

Rumlow closed his eyes to the sun streaking through the trees, reaching up feebly with his good arm to touch her cheek. "You're okay, now," he quietly wheezed, grimacing at a flash of pain.

She cupped her hand over his and nodded. "I'm okay," she nodded, turning a fast kiss into his palm before gravity and his weakness stripped it from her hold. The limpness of his body sent a sharp panic through her and Allison searched his neck for a pulse, her wide eyes unblinking, watching for a rise in his chest. "No, not like this," she murmured. "Come on. Not like this. Please, don’t."

The heat of tears pricked at her eyes and she coughed out in relief of finding a thready rhythm still moving through him. His breaths were shallow, almost imperceptible, but they were still there. She bowed, her forehead pressed into the crook of his neck and her hand splayed over his chest, mumbling a fast prayer of thanks that he was still alive.

She heard Barnes come to stand near her. She didn’t let go of Brock, when she looked up to see him. When her eyes met his, he wasn’t standing beside her, like she anticipated. He was several feet away, behind her shoulder in a tactical advantage, and looming over her, eyes leveled in a mix of horrid realization and wounded hesitation.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered.

His expression filling with rage and betrayal, he thumbed back the hammer of the gun in his right hand. The click of the cocking triggered her muscle memory and training took over, making her grab the pistol on the ground beside her. They leveled their guns at each other in the same instant. Her heart racing, she turned on her hip on the ground, twisting herself to hide what she could of Brock behind her, instinctually. A fallen agent, her commander, and her could have been husband. She wouldn’t abandon even his body until their was nothing left in hers. No one left behind.

Allison quickly assessed her adversary. His muscles locked, pupils wide, chest heaving, and trigger hooked. He was as ready as she was. She brought her other hand to wrap around her first in support. She could feel the last edge of her adrenaline fading. There might be another rush if she was lucky, but for now, the inventory was almost spent and leaving her. After their escape, muscling through injuries, her fight with Jack, and her trying to aid Brock, she didn't have much left to give. She swallowed hard, waiting to see who would move first.

“You’re her,” Barnes said, his voice low and accusing. “You’re Addy.”

She felt the hot sting in her eyes, the first flinch of fear, and she blinked. “How do you know that name?” she demanded, gritting her teeth in her own anger.

“He used it,” Barnes hissed. “He said it.”

How? When? Why? The Asset knew. But Brock would never have said that name in the company of HYDRA. He never said it in front of SHIELD. That’s how he kept her safe, from everyone.

“You’re lying,” she seethed. “He never would have told you. He stopped handling you in 2010, before he knew me.”

“He didn’t tell me,” he agreed. “It’s what he called her. When he was alone, when he spoke to her- when he spoke to _you_.”

A hot tear fell from her lashes to her cheek, cutting a trail through the dirt on her face. “How..?” she choked quietly, suddenly unable to think, as questions swirled in her mind. “When..?”

When she couldn’t go on, he did for her. “He was around. Not a direct part of the program anymore, but he was running missions and working on Insight.” He paused, his eyes shifting past her to reference Brock. “He talked to them. There were dozens of names they said, but only one woman. They called her Addams, when they talked about assignments and training; about the people they had inside SHIELD." His eyes ran up and down her, seeming to draw a conclusion. "He told them you were part of Insight. That’s how you got in; how you’ve been doing all of this, isn’t it?”

All she could do was give him a nod, her breath failing her as much as she felt her heart was.

“I’ve heard that name,” he went on. “Out of cryo, waiting for debriefing or recalibration. Sometimes he made a call. He told the person he was alright, when he’d be home; things he said to someone that he'd say ‘I love you’ to. Always quiet. Always from the corner of the room where no one could hear. Only, I could hear. He called her Addy.”

Allison felt her heart break, for the things Barnes overheard and the deceit she knew he saw through now. She felt the air leave her and the tears roll from both eyes. She felt the small tremor in her grip, losing her strength, his words like a series of blows to her gut. She was ashamed and startled and worried, for herself and Rumlow, all at once. Her eyes broke off Barnes', falling to the ground away from him and drifting back to Brock.

He had warned her; told her she never should have dismantled the fail safe. There was nothing that could protect her, or him, from the Soldier now. Allison knew, with Barnes unrestrained and armed, there was no way he'd give her enough time to say the words of the command code the handlers used. After all her time in service, to the Army and to SHIELD, she had finally found herself in a battle she couldn't win.

Her hands parting slowly, she lowered her gun. She opened her palms to him and let go of the weapon, leaving it to fall to the ground beside her. “Do it,” she told him, her request hushed by exhaustion, dragging her vacant eyes back up to his.

Barnes' rage switched to indignant questioning, in a blink. Allison unfolded her feet from beneath her, falling back with slumped shoulders. She was completely resigned, with no out or move to make. There was no escape for them anymore. In the last few days, she found out who Rumlow was. Facing the end, Allison knew Brock was exactly who he had always shown her; a warrior and loyal soldier who loved her endlessly and gave everything to protect her like he had always promised he would. But, without the trigger word or code, there was nothing she could do now to save either of them.

"Go on," she told Barnes. "You know I won't kill you...but, now you know, I was never going to let you hurt him." She tipped her chin to him, as an invitation. "...So, go on. Finish this.” Allison locked her eyes on his. "This was the objective all along, wasn't it? To kill him; destroy HYDRA and whoever got in your way. ...Well, I'm in your way." She swept her head. "And I'm not moving."

Allison closed her eyes, calm and expressionless. She felt Brock’s body behind her, the small of her back curved against the gear on his side. She was so tired; of hiding and fighting, but mostly from the lies. With her hand over Brock's weakly rising chest, she waited for the release that didn’t come.

She opened her eyes to see Barnes again. His resolve slipping, Barnes' expression had softened. Looking at her with pitying eyes, his arm had fallen, his aim tipped to the ground. She was confused, for a moment. Allison had kept him from his mission. She kept and protected Brock from him and took what probably would have been one of his greatest blows and satisfactions in his revenge against HYDRA.

Barnes shook his head, slowly. His lips parted, as if he were about to speak, but no words came. His brow furrowed, in concentration and question, and his eyes flicked to Rumlow behind her. A tension built up in Allison, as she waited for him to complete his mission.

"What are you waiting for?" she demanded. "Do it!"

Barnes visibly swallowed, shaking his head again. "No."

She didn't understand. Something in the back of her mind told her this was what she deserved; that she had lied to him and used him, betrayed him for her own selfish gains. Gains that where a breath away from dying and half a mile from hope to save them. Barnes owed her nothing and she had a list of sins against him that she had no penance for. But he didn't give her the satisfaction of accountability or punishment. Barnes stood there, his weapon loosely at his side and in a standoff with her that offered no threats.

The silence between them broke, as the sound of approaching footsteps crunching through the undergrowth grew. Bucky didn’t look away from her. The footsteps were close and Allison stiffened, reaching out to curl her fingers around the grip of the pistol on the ground and bracing herself for whatever the footfall brought with it.

“It’s alright,” Barnes said, and the sounds stopped.

Allison twisted to see behind her. To their right, Capt. Rogers stood surveying the scene, shield on his arm and Romanoff and Barton following to catch up. Rogers looked over Rollins and then Rumlow. His gaze shifted to Allison and back to Barnes. Romanoff and Barton fell in behind him, the same questions in their eyes, as they looked around.

“Buck?” Rogers asked, the single word enough to question everything in front of him.

“We're done here,” Bucky said, nodding once to Allison, when she turned back to see him again.

“Alright,” the Captain nodded, apparently needing no further explanation from him.

Rogers and the others turned to go.

“No,” Bucky called after them and they stopped to look back. “He's alive. Rumlow- He goes back.”

Rogers’ gaze shifted down to Brock, his chest barely raising his vest, and then back to Barnes with a critical eye. “What?”

“I said, he goes back with us,” Barnes told him, taking a step toward Allison and holding out his metal hand to her.

The Captain looked over his shoulder to Romanoff and Barton before looking to study Allison. He eyed Bucky again, watching as he moved in closer and Allison hesitantly accepted his hand to pull her to her feet. Rogers gave a small nod. Slipping the shield off his arm, the Captain swung it behind his shoulders, where the magnetic harness held it firm to his back. Allison watched with bated breath as he knelt to pick up Brock, an arm under his knees and the other behind his shoulders. She felt a sudden sickness go through her when Brock’s head fell limply backward as Rogers stood and, in the same moment, Barnes' hand touched her shoulder.

Barnes led her along, his hand gripped on her armor at the shoulder and guiding her forward, following Rogers and the others toward the waiting Quinjet and her exfil. Allison’s eyes burned, too tired to be anything but dry and unable to look away from Rumlow's expressionless face. She quickened her stride, as the LZ came into view.

Ahead of her, in the clearing, a trio of Quinjets waited. There was a pang of worry, as she watched Mick and the others, handcuffed, being stood up, one at a time, from their knees to be escorted into one of the jets. She shouldn't have expected any less. The agents taking custody of the defectors would understandably be wary. She lengthened her stride and, with surprising ease, Allison shrugged off Barnes' hold to fall in line beside the unconscious man in Rogers' arms, as they approached the nearest plane.

Onboard the jet, Rogers laid Rumlow along the row of jump seats across the bulkhead. Allison stepped around Wilson, and his confused look at seeing Brock laid out, to open one of the storage cabinets on the far bulkhead. She grabbed the medical kit and filled her hands with all the gauze she could hold. Allison tucked an IV kit under her arm and hurried to Brock's side. She registered the sound of the jet ramp rising and sealing shut and the subtle rumble that went through the airframe as the engines came to full power, but Allison was too focused on her work to worry about strapping in for take off.

Allison dropped her supplies on the deck beside her, as she took a knee. She pulled at Brock's armor, ripping back the Velcro closures to remove the front panel and get a better look at his wounds. While she felt the shudder and heard the rattle of the Quinjet lifting off, she took the scissors from the medical kit and cut away Rumlow's uniform shirts. She paused for only a fraction of a second, seeing the paths of burned scaring down his side and across his chest. Allison twisted open a bottle of saline wash, dousing her hands and wiping the dirt off on the inside of Brock's shredded shirt. She moved the wadded up shirt she'd stuffed under his vest at his side and poured the fluid over the gaping wound that stubbornly was still bleeding, only slowed by the clotting agent.

She tore open some rolled gauze and began packing the wound. Allison used a second roll to fill the injury and fumbled to open a field dressing, while she kept her forearm pressed to him to hold the pack in place and apply pressure. She set the dressing and reached over, tucking one tail under his back. As Allison struggled against her waning energy to slip one side of the pack ties under his back to pull across and keep the dressing in place, she startled at the arm that passed close to her periphery and the other that reached over and around her head to help roll Brock on his side enough to retrieve the tie of the dressing. She looked up, too confused by the aid that came from Barton to do anything but blink at him before going back to work.

Clint put pressure on the field dressing, while Allison drew the tails together and knotted them beside the wound. Barton inspected the chemically sealed wound on Rumlow's shoulder, as Allison broke open the IV kit. She tied off the rubber tourniquet on Brock's right arm, grabbing the needle in one hand and thumbing the veins in the crook of his elbow with the other. Barton asked what she needed and Allison threw a no look jerk of her thumb back to the cabinet, telling him to bring her 1,000mils of Hextand. She heard Clint move away, as she pressed the needle into Rumlow's arm. She set and flushed the IV, working, as quickly as the slight tremble in her hands let her, to connect and start the solution's drip. With the line set, Barton took the gravity fed bag from her hand, hooking it on the rack above the jumpseats, in lieu of an IV pole.

Allison sat back on her heel and let out a heavy sigh. Her worried gaze fixed on Brock, Allison used the heel of her palm to push back the loose hairs from her face, feeling the grime of dirt drag across her sweating face and the sticky tightness of dried blood on her skin. A hand palmed over her head and Allison looked up to see Clint flash her a thin smile under sympathetic eyes.

Barton gave her head a gentle push, telling her, "Now you."

"I'm fine," she told him, tilting her head away and turning her attention back to Brock.

"Whatever," Clint mumbled, taking a knee next to her and rummaging through the open medical kit.

He didn't ask permission or tell her what he was doing, but Barton opened a roll of gauze and tugged Allison's elbow up to pour the remaining wash over her arm before going about wrapping the graze on her left bicep. Allison didn't fuss or fight, as Barton dabbed and rinsed dirt away from the shrapnel nicks on her forearms or when he tucked gauze into the tear in the vest under her arm.

When he was done, she sank down to the deck and laid her hand on Brock's chest. Her wounded arm had stopped bleeding at some point, but she appreciated Clint's quiet assurance that his dressing would help keep it closed and a little cleaner until they could land. Allison inched closer to Rumlow's makeshift gurney. With one arm laid across him and a hand cradling his head still, she rested her head against Brock's good shoulder, eyes closed and ears straining for the sound of his heartbeat, for the flight to Stark Tower.


	50. Chapter 50

July 2015

Allison wasn't oblivious to the tension on the Quinjet. She just chose to ignore it. It was palpable, as soon as Barton stood and walked towards the cockpit. With no one speaking, only watching her and Rumlow, it wasn't hard to overhear.

"You on a coffee break or somethin'?" she heard Clint casually ask, although the subtle undercurrent of sarcasm was unmistakable.

"What?" Wilson scoffed.

"I asked if you're on a fuckin' coffee break or something," he rephrased, sounding less hospitable.

"Man, what the hell are you talking about?" Sam demanded.

Lifting her head from where it rested on Brock's chest, Allison turned to peek over her shoulder to see Barton standing practically on Wilson's toes, as he pressed, "Well, you're just standing there and two wounded walk in, one of them with GSWs and severe blood loss, and I don't see the PJ step up and do his job." Clint didn't look, when he held out his upturned hand to reference Allison. "I see one wounded treating the other, so, I gotta ask, are you on a fuckin' coffee break?"

"You don't even _know_ what they did," Wilson growled, staring back at Clint, and pointing over to Allison for himself. "That sonuvabitch tried to kill me. And _her_?"

"So, you get to pick and choose now?" Barton challenged, unfazed by the angry resentment in Wilson's charge. "Thought your motto was 'that others may live'. Didn't know it was up to you to decide."

Sam's jaw set and he lifted his chin to look down his nose at the archer, his head turning to watch him brush past him and take the co-pilots seat up front beside Natasha. Before she turned completely back to Rumlow, she caught Barnes watching her. He was standing beside Rogers along the far bulkhead, near one of the communications terminals, listening as the Captain began to speak to him in a hushed tone, but his gaze was fixed on her. She stopped, her eyes meeting his for a moment.

Allison looked away first, the weight of his hard stare was more than she had the energy to bear. She had Rumlow to monitor and she needed to rest. Sitting up a little straighter in her place on the deck of the jet, she inspected the IV into Brock's arm and watched the drip from the Hextand bag above them. He was still pale, his skin clammy under her touch. 

She hadn't kept track of the time, but Allison knew they had arrived in New York faster than she suspected they should have on an ordinary flight. She figured she had Barton to thank for that, with him at the controls. Allison stayed where she was, giving Rumlow a final once over, as the engines powered down and the jet ramp lowered into the hangar. A hand came to her shoulder and it wasn't completely on her own power that Allison rose to her feet.

Barnes kept a firm grip on the shoulder of her armor, pulling her to step back. Rogers passed her, picking up Rumlow again, as Barton hurried back through the plane to grab the IV bag from its place on the rack and carry it as they walked down the ramp. Waiting for them was a dark haired woman in a white lab coat. She was accompanied by medical staff in dark blue scrubs with a gurney. Beyond them was an armed detail waiting. The Captain laid Brock down on the gurney carefully, as one of the nurses took the Hextand from Clint and he gave the doctor some notes on Rumlow's injuries.

As the medical staff started off with Rumlow, they passed Tony Stark on his way through the hangar. He stuttered to a stop, doing a double take at the unconscious man who was wheeled by him. There was a subtle shove at Allison's back and she took the cue to deplane, with Barnes still holding onto her. Stark pointed a suspicious finger up the ramp at Allison, his jaw slacking open in a silent question his brain couldn't quite manage to get out from behind a brow wrinkled in deep confusion.

"Isn't tha-" he started then stalled, swinging his finger and body to look back toward Rumlow at the doorway and then back to Allison.

Barton shook his head, telling him, "Tony- don't."

Stark closed his mouth and stepped aside, guided back by Clint's straightened arm across his chest. Wilson stepped off the end of the ramp ahead of Allison. Tony's finger still pointed, following each person as they paraded by him. The last one off the plane, Natasha slapped down his hand, with a scolding look. 

As Allison passed Rogers, he ordered the uniformed agents, "Take this woman into custody."

Barnes tugged her armor to make Allison stop. The security team approached. Two men slung aside their rifles to put their hands on Allison, as Barnes let go. The first agent pulled her hands behind her back, ratcheting handcuffs onto her wrists. Allison exhaled at the pain that burned through her injured bicep, shoulder, and side. The other man relieved her of her weapons and gave her a thorough search before nodding to his apparent superior that she was hiding nothing else. Standing just off of the Captain's shoulder, Romanoff gently cleared her throat.

With a small sigh of annoyance, Rogers added, "Take the prisoner to Medical, before she's placed in holding."

The agents parted to fall in behind Allison and the two guards that directed her by their tight grips at her elbows. The others stayed behind in the hangar. Allison caught a quick glimpse, as she was turned to the right in the hallway. The Avengers and Barnes watched her go, with a variety of expressions, ranging from curiosity to disappointment to outright anger. Allison turned her attention back to where she was walking.

The infirmary was only a few floors and several turns away. Inside, she was maneuvered to stand at the side of an examination table and told to sit. Her tiredness welcomed the offer and she perched herself on the edge of the cushioned table, with one foot on the floor. A woman, in dark blue scrubs and her chestnut colored hair twisted up in a knot, came forward with a handful of supplies. She spread out a couple of suture kits and an assortment of sterile cleaning aides and bandages on a rolling table and wheeled it to Allison's bedside.

The woman looked up at Allison, studying her for a moment, before asking, "If they take those cuffs off, are you gonna try anything?"

There was a small sweep of Allison's head, when she evenly, and honestly, promised, "No, ma'am."

The woman judged her reply, for a moment, before nodding to the closest agent. The guard moved behind Allison to reach and unlock her handcuffs. In the same instant the first cuff was unhinged, a pair of rifles were raised and trained on Allison. They stayed there, as the agent withdrew to rejoin his men and the woman pulled on a pair of latex gloves. Allison slowly moved her hands to lay limply in her lap, fixing her gaze to an empty space on the wall ahead of her. 

"I'm Dr. Brooks," the woman said, putting her hand on the back of Allison's arm to raise it up and begin removing the dressing Barton had wrapped around it. "I'll be taking care of you today."

Allison nodded her understanding, but didn't reply. She only spoke when needed, answering questions about the sources of her injuries and her level of discomfort or pain with each. Allison started her list of injuries with the one she knew about from the helicopter crash, as she removed her armor at the doctor's order. Dr. Brooks had a portable X-ray machine brought in and a tech took several images, to help identify the number of pieces of shrapnel in Allison's shoulder and check for any fractures from the crash. The doctor was concerned for the amount of bruising on the left side of Allison's face, despite her assurance most of the discoloration was from a couple of days ago. X-rays showed no fracture in her jaw, although the area was thoroughly tender, under Dr. Brooks' exploratory touches, from Jack's latest hit today. For good measure, a tetanus shot was ordered and Allison went through a series of tests to rule out a concussion.

The only moves Allison made were at the request of the doctor. The woman manipulated her limbs, giving Allison directions of when or how to hold her arm "there" or to relax again. Allison wasn't concerned with modesty when she was instructed to remove her compression t-shirt, leaving just her sports bra to cover her, for Dr. Brooks to examine the wounds on her side and shoulder. Allison had spent years on teams and in units where she was in the severe minority or the only female. She had always been treated like a fellow soldier and sister and was largely immune to any looks she might get from a stranger.

Dr. Brooks started with the worst part first, having Allison lay face down to get a better look at her shrapnel wound on her shoulder under the spotlight above the bed. Despite the lidocaine injections, Allison felt every prod and pull. She kept focused on her breathing, concentrating on relaxing her muscles, despite the twinges of pain she felt. She heard several sharp sounds of small objects that fell and rattled into a pan near the bedside, as the doctor worked. When it was over, Allison was told she had a collection of 14 staples over the entry wounds in her shoulder blade.

Her gunshot wound along her ribs hadn't torn much. The tightness of the vest against her had kept the cut relatively closed, compared to her arm. Her side took seven staples. The gash in her upper arm took 13 stitches to close. The tear on her shin was rather narrow and was put together with a few stitches and several steri-strips.

She swallowed the pill the doctor offered for pain and another she said was an antibiotic. The doctor ran down a quick list of signs of infection to watch for and basic wound care, while Allison carefully put her HYDRA uniform tee back on. Medical staff would follow up with her as needed, while she was in the tower. When Allison shook her head that she didn't have any questions for the doctor, and with Dr. Brooks' approval, Allison's cuffs were put back on and she was ordered to her feet.

Allison complied and noticed Romanoff in the corner of the room, when she stood. She had kept her attention focused on the wall, choosing to ignore the comings and goings of the infirmary so as not to worry the agents or doctor that she was making any observations or escape plans. Natasha stood, with her arms folded in front of her, her eyes following Allison being escorted to the door. Romanoff fell in step behind the detail, making sure she behaved, Allison figured. 

They turned the other direction from the way they came in, into a back hallway still in the medical area. Just a few yards down, they came to a row of windows into a small operating theater. Allison looked to her left, her attention drawn by the brightness in the room, and saw the first female doctor masked and working on Rumlow's injured shoulder. Allison stopped, digging her heel in just a half step ahead of her to fight back into the hand pushing her forward.

"Keep moving," one of the agents gruffly ordered, as Allison struggled to keep her ground against the extra hands coming to drive her on.

"Wait," Natasha's cool voice came through, over the barks of the guards. "Let her look."

Allison stopped pushing back, when the other hands came off her. She looked over her shoulder at Romanoff, to see if it was some kind of a trick. Natasha's expression was neutral, but Allison saw a tightness in her jaw. She gave Allison a small raise of her chin and Allison took the cue to move closer to the window.

She took a good look over the room, taking a few seconds to watch the steady pulse jag across the screen of the heart rate monitor. Allison felt a little more relief at seeing a new shade of warmth coming back to Brock's skin. The doctor worked with painstaking attention, while a nurse made an adjustment to Rumlow's intubation. Allison swallowed and took a deep breath, feeling, for the first time, a little confidence that he might pull through.

"Agent Romanoff?" one of the agents questioned, after a few minutes. "Capt. Rogers gave orders to-"

"I know," Natasha answered. "Carry on."

Allison wasn't resisting, but she most certainly didn't leave the view of the operating room of her own accord. Behind her, a hand went to the base of her neck to spur her on, as the armed agent beside her took hold to pull her forward by the elbow. She tried to steal one last glimpse, before her escort detail turned the next corner to a waiting elevator. 

She figured, after she was seen by medical staff, that she was headed for the holding cells in the tower. Having been to Stark Tower before, to recover and transfer prisoners from the Avengers, she recognized immediately after stepping back out of the elevator that she wasn't being put in a cell. Allison was led along the hall and placed in front of a heavy steel door with a window. The window showed her the inside of the interview room she was held in a few days ago, when she came to New York to ask for the Captain's help. An agent tapped his security bag to unlock the door and Allison was moved inside. She was directed to the chair on the far side of the table and told to sit. Under close watch by the agents in the room, who put their rifle sights on her, she was uncuffed and her wrists shackled to the table. Four agents fanned out to the corners of the room and the others left, making sure the door shut and the mechanical lock engaged behind them. 

She didn't expect a weak link or anything. Allison picked up the length of chain tethering her to the table out of boredom. It's not like there was anything else to look at while long, silent minutes passed. She counted the links in the length. She already knew how many ceiling tiles and fluorescent tubes were in the ceiling above her. Boredom was becoming an understatement and, despite the pain medication, she was growing increasingly uncomfortable. Her eyes flicked up to the door, eager at hearing the mechanical locks open.

Rogers came in, stopping just over the threshold of the doorway, his head cocked over his shoulder until he heard the door lock again. He turned his gaze to Allison, eyes set on hers as he crossed the room to the table in the middle. Allison sat up a little straighter from where she slouched in her most recent attempt at being comfortable against her stiffening muscles. She waited for him to speak first, not that she necessarily had anything to say. The Captain pulled out the other chair at the table and sat, putting a tablet on the table and folding his arms over his chest as he settled into the back of his seat.

"How's the stitches?" he asked, jutting his chin her way, as his eyes ticked over to her arm.

"Fine," she answered, sounding indifferent despite her surprise at the question's mild tone of curious concern.

"We've made contact with most everyone's family," Rogers told her. "Rumlow's men are cooperating; giving depositions and marking maps."

Allison nodded. "They said they would."

Rogers studied her a moment, his eyes running over her face for anything to read. "Bucky brought us a backpack; said it was yours," he began. "I'm assuming the tablet we found in there is the one you said you'd turn over in exchange for help to free him." Allison nodded again. "It's locked."

"It requires a fingerprint ID or password to unlock," she told him what she figured he already knew about it.

"Give me the code," he said, more firmly than he needed to.

She was going to give it to him anyway and spoke slowly, so he didn't miss a number. "0, 8. 1, 6. 1, 1."

Rogers typed the code into the device's screen as she spoke. When the tablet unlocked, he nodded to the two-way mirror. A few moments later, the door unlocked again and a man in a suit came in to claim the tablet from the Captain. It was quiet until the man left. When the door was secured, Rogers gave her a once over, making a long exhale through his nose.

"Now what?" Allison wondered.

"Now," he said, "you wait."

"What for?" she pressed, though unconcerned. She didn't worry what SHIELD would do to her. It couldn't be any worse than what she'd already been through over the years.

"Nobody knows what to think about you," he bluntly told her. "There's a lot of things people are sifting through, trying to decide who you really are." Allison nodded, accepting the uncertainty. "Until that's figured out, you'll be detained."

"Leavenworth? Carswell?" she suggested, presuming someone like her warranted supermax confinement or worse. "I hear the Raft and Ryker's are nice this time of year."

"You never stop, do you?" Rogers scowled, cocking his head, disapprovingly, at her.

"I wouldn't be here if I did, would I?" she shrugged. "But what am I going to do? You want me to beg? Want me to cry?"

"I want you to consider your situation very seriously," he said, eyeing her up and down, incredulously.

Allison carefully sat up, leaning forward to the edge of the table. "I have never taken anything more seriously," she promised, "than I have the last 13 and a half months of my life, Sir."

The Captain shook his head at her, crossing his arms again. "What happened to you, Allison?"

"Nothing," she assured him, with a single sweep of her head, as she sat back in her seat again. "This is me," she said, opening her palms to him, "exactly the way SHIELD made me."

Rogers gave her another minute of consideration, before he stood up, silently, and left the room. The door didn't shut behind him. Instead, the additional agents reappeared in the room. One gave orders to Allison, controlling her moves as he put her in handcuffs again and released her from the shackles of the table. The agents took Allison through the building, snaking through a few turns of the halls until they placed her in a cell in the small detention area of the Tower. When her cell was closed, she reached her hands out through the hatch in the door to have her cuffs removed. She couldn't help a soft snort, shaking her head at thinking of the times she had come to this part of the building to retrieve prisoners from the Avengers for SHIELD. Life seemed to have a twisted sense of humor.


	51. Chapter 51

July 2015

Comparatively speaking, being held in Stark Tower was luxurious versus her previous accommodations provided by her captors. The cot in the room had a firm but comfortable mattress, pillow, and an extra blanket folded at the foot of the bed she doubted she would need, considering the amiable temperature of the cell. When boredom took over, she actually measured the floor space with heel to toe steps, noting its impressive 14'x18' size. If she looked out the small window of her cell door, she could see a clock on the wall and, if she strained the right way, the desk at the end of the hall where the guards kept post.

There were fresh clothes piled on the bed, but no order to change into them and, oddly now, she was comfortable to stay in the uniform pieced together from stolen HYDRA gear. Besides, something about being in a uniform instead of an inmate's clothes gave her a little comfort and confidence.

Allison washed what she could reach of herself in the sink, taking several passes to completely remove the dirt and blood from her face, arms, and under her nails. With a last rinse of her face, Allison took a long look at herself in the mirror. She was lost in her reflection for a minute, exhaustion catching up with her and blurring her vision until she remembered to blink. She turned off the faucet and caught a glimpse down the front of herself. Allison stopped, staring at the bottom of her shirt and the front of her BDUs stained with Jack's blood.

A nauseated feeling crept through her body and Allison peeled off her shirt, wadding it up and stuffing it down into the sink. She opened the taps again, grabbing the bar of soap from its tray and working up a vigorous lather in her hands. Dropping the bar in the sink basin, Allison scrubbed her shirt, working it against itself, washing and rinsing several times over. When the water she wrung from the material ran clear, instead of reddish brown, she stopped. She hung the shirt across the edge of the sink to dry. She swallowed a deep breath and backed away from the sink, until she was halted by the back of her knee finding  the metal frame of the bed behind her. Allison sat down on the end of the cot, her hands clasped tightly together as they hung over her knees, and her eyes fixed on the dripping shirt across the room. Her mind was blank, but she felt completely unnerved.

She wasn't sure how long she stayed like that; locked in that position and vacant stare. Eventually, the quiet of the room took over and Allison finally felt tired enough to sleep. She grabbed the extra blanket from the end of her cot and slung it around behind her. Allison pulled the blanket closed across her and moved on her bed to the corner of the room. She pulled her feet up and backed into the corner to face the door of her cell, waiting to fall asleep.

The knock on her cell door jarred Allison awake. Despite the small rush of adrenaline from the sudden start, she still felt exhausted, after opening her eyes. She figured she obviously couldn't have been asleep long enough to do any good. The guard on the outside of the door ordered her to come to the door to be handcuffed. Wiping a tired hand down her face, Allison inhaled deeply, to ward off a yawn, and nodded. She stood, leaving her blanket behind, and grabbed her shirt off the end of the sink. It was barely damp. She must have slept for longer than she thought.

Pulling the shirt overhead, Allison took a minute to tuck it in and adjust the gig line of her belt. No one barked at her for taking her time getting to the door. When she stopped in front of it, she turned around, presenting her wrists together at her back to the open hatch in the door. The agent outside reached in, locking the cuffs on her and telling her to step away from the door. Allison moved and waited for the cell to be opened and the guard to tell her what to do next.

She was brought out of her cell, met again by an escort team. Allison moved in the middle of the armed detail, walking along from the detention area to the elevator. A glance at the clock on the wall said she had been asleep for a few hours. It was just before 5 p.m. No one spoke to her and she remained silent, even though a couple of faces seemed vaguely familiar to her. She assumed they had crossed paths in the tower before, when she was working for SHIELD.

It didn't take long to figure out they were back in the infirmary. Allison presumed they were taking her for a followup exam or something of the like. Passing by a row of windows to an operating room and an open door, Allison heard a pair of nurses speaking over the covered body she saw on the table, one taking notes on a clipboard as the other said, "Death certificate's signed. Agent Harris'll be transferred to DC, this evening. The family can claim him there." After that, Allison's head hung a little lower as they walked.

After a couple of turns in the hallway, they arrived at a closed door. The men leading the way moved aside and there was no one between Allison and the solid wood doorway. The agent closest to the door handle reached out to turn the knob and push the door open. Allison stood still, waiting for a commmand to enter, or do anything else. The agent simply inclined his head toward the room and Allison hesitantly stepped in, watching warily over her shoulder. Her escorts didn't follow her in. Instead, the agent who opened the door leaned in behind her and pulled it shut.

Allison turned around to see her new surroundings. She froze, half expecting some kind of trick, when she saw Brock lying in a hospital bed. He looked to be sleeping. The intubation from surgery was gone and there was a soft and rhythmic tone from the board of monitors above his bed. Fluids ran to his arm from hung IV bags and she could see the edge of gauze covering the front of his wounded shoulder, peeking out from the white sheet pulled up to his chest.

Remembering to breathe, Allison looked around the room. They were alone. Mounted in the corners of the room and on the wall behind her, a pair of cameras kept watch. Allison went to his bedside, slowly. There was a chair nearby and, after a long study of the monitors attached to Rumlow and his even breathing, Allison hooked the toe of her boot behind the chair leg to drag it close. She inched over to sit down, but stopped. She looked back to the door and then to each of the cameras.

"Fuck it," she muttered, side stepping away from the chair.

Allison took a deep breath to prepare herself for what she knew was coming. Rolling her shoulders back, she crouched slightly and dipped her wrists and cuffs behind her. Exhaling through the burn and sting in her arms and shoulder, she perched herself on the arm of the chair and raised one leg. She slipped her cuffs forward, from underneath her, tucking and pulling her leg close and through the loop of her restrained arms. When her other leg was through and she'd maneuvered her cuffed hands in front of her, Allison paused, grimacing at the pain her contorting had caused every stitched, stapled, and shrapnel cut inch of her.

When she opened her eyes again, she was still. Waiting. Allison watched the door, but it never opened. No one came to stop her. Allison stood from the arm of the chair and picked up the folder with Rumlow's name on it from the bedside table. She fanned open the cover and skimmed the pages in his chart, taking note of the injuries the doctor found and repaired. When she was finished, she put the chart aside and moved back to the chair to sit. She was still for a few minutes, content to just watch him breath, before she reached out her arms to the bedside, gently curling her right hand over Brock's. She scooted back in the chair, leaning down to rest her head on her uninjured arm on the edge of his bed.

She was still surprised that no one stayed to watch her and no one came to stop her from shifting her cuffs up from behind her. Eventually, she figured their watch over the closed circuit surveillance in the room and their likely presumption that she would stay wherever Rumlow was were enough to satisfy any worry they had about her trying to escape. Not that she had any intention of making an attempt. Every minute of semi-freedom they allowed her would be spent at Brock's side and she wouldn't do anything to jeopardize that privilege.

Allison slept lightly, having just been lulled to sleep by the quiet, but rhythmic, beep of the heart monitor. Her head snapped up at the move; a subtle raise of a fingertip up into her palm. A small grin of relief tugged back the side of her mouth and the breath fell out of her, when Brock's rasping voice gently said, "Hey, kid."

She swallowed the lump that came to her throat, as she felt her heart race anxiously in her chest. "Hey," she smiled back.

"You okay?" he asked, brow pulling up in curious worry.

Allison nodded and hummed. "I'm okay. Just a little tired."

"I can imagine," he smiled. Brock's eyes scanned the room, before closing tight in a grimace at apparently recognizing the city skyline out the window. "Fuck me."

"I know," Allison nodded, her expression sobering. He knew where he was. "It's okay."

"Sure, sweetheart," he snorted, his breath hitched at the discomfort the noise put in his chest. Rumlow flattened his free hand to press against his ribs. "For you, maybe. Me? Not so much."

"We're in this together," she reminded him. "I'm right here with you."

The pain left his face, after a slow exhale, and a concerned furrow knitted his brow. "You shouldn't be," he said.

"I got no plans for tomorrow," she quipped.

"My men," he began, cautiously, "Mick and the others. Did they make it?"

Allison breathed in, slowly, with a small shake of her head. "No. Not Harris." She took a moment for herself, clearing her throat at the discomfort and guilt she felt about the stranger who risked and gave up his life for her and a chance at a new one for himself. "Everyone else is fine, as far as I know. Their families, if they have any, are being brought in by SHIELD."

"God damn it," he muttered, shaking his head. Brock sighed, turning his eyes back up to the ceiling. "Hell of a mess, Addy."

"I'm sorry about Harris," she somberly offered. "Did he have a fam-"

"Don't do that," Rumlow told her, firmly. "Everyone knew what the risks were. He's not sorry he tried."

Brock slipped his hand from under hers, curling it over her palm when she twisted her hand over not to lose his touch. His eyes flicked down at feeling the edge of the metal cuff on her wrist fall against the side of his finger. He set his eyes back up on her, his expression a mix of anger and confusion.

"The fuck?" he questioned. "What the fuck is this?"

"I'm not exactly innocent in this," Allison reminded him, looking down at her restrained hand in his.

"The hell you aren't," he argued and the frequency of his heart monitor increased with his rising pulse. "You didn't do anything wrong. You didn't know."

Allison nodded, her lips pursing in a passing frown. "Still, I did a lot of things," she assured him.

"No," he insisted, his brow creasing down angrily. "You didn-"

"It's okay," she promised, folding her other hand over his and squeezing. "It is." Allison's gaze flitted up to the monitors. "Please, just rest. You couldn't do anything about it in the shape you're in anyway."

His jaw worked in frustration, his expression softening the longer he looked at her meek smile and she held his hand tightly. She knew he didn't like the situation, but there was nothing either of them could do about it, for now. Brock nodded, unhappily, and the soft beep in the air began to slow.

"How bad is it?" he asked, a flinch of pain showing as a twitch in the corner of his eye when he moved his left arm.

"Not bad," Allison assured him. "Could've been worse. Contusions and a couple fractured ribs from the crash. Surgery went well for the gunshot wounds. Between what you lost in the escape and surgery, you took almost six units of blood." She flashed him a sly grin. "Unfortunately, you'll live."

Brock snorted softly, smiling through the pain it brought. "Yeah, we'll see for how long."

Allison smiled, shaking her head. He squeezed back on her hand and closed his eyes, taking his time to inhale and exhale a long breath. It was quiet in the room. They sat there together, in a peace and safety neither of them had known in over a year. Allison relaxed, nestling her cheek to her arm again. Several quiet minutes passed.

"You know..."

Allison raised her head, a worried crease in her brow at the struggling sound. Rumlow's voice croaked with exhaustion, still fighting off the tail end of anesthesia and the irratation in his throat from being intubated. He grimaced at a spasm of pain and went on.

"I'd take flowers to your grave, whenever I was nearby; after the docs fixed me up and I found out where it was. I knew you weren't there, but I thought maybe you'd go by; might take a look at where they put you. ...I didn't want you to think anyone forgot about you; that you were alone."

She felt the pinch of her teeth biting into her lower lip, a failing attempt to keep it from trembling and the tears at bay. Allison blinked away the blurriness in her vision from the wetness gathering in her eyes. His thumb swept soothingly back and forth across her hand still in his.

"I went for the funeral," she admitted, dropping her head, with an embarrassed titter. She looked up at him again, chewing on the side of her lip, before her eyes ticked down shyly and she sniffed, brushing her finger past the tip of her nose. "That was it. I was afraid to stay too long or get that close to DC again."

Rumlow nodded, his lips pursing in a thoughtful pout. "Still," he mused.

"It would've done me some good to have known that, though," she quietly considered, with a subtle bob of her head.

"How'd you do it?" he asked, after a brief pause between them. "Out there, on your own, in the wind for a year. No team, no support."

"I had a good teacher," she smiled up at him.

"Nah," he chuckled, despite the discomfort that showed in his face. "You came to me that way." An admiring smile came to his lips. "Still impressing me, kid."

"I tried, anyway," Allison shrugged.

"You did good, Addy," he assured her, with a small, but confident, nod. "Real good." Brock closed his eyes, with a tired sigh, as he shifted his shoulder. "He'd still be proud of you," he said, decidedly.

"Who's that?" she wondered, an intrigued squint to her gaze up at him, resting her chin down on her arm.

"Fury."

Allison's head tipped in curiosity. "What would he care?"

Brock tucked his chin to look down at her. "He hand picked you," he told her and Allison blinked. "It's funny. I still remember it; sittin' there with my feet kicked up on the desk and three fingers of whiskey in one hand. Me and Jack, in the middle of the night, ranking the candidate applications for your class, after we finished some bullshit sortie." He grinned at the memory. "Fury himself walked into my office and said to put you at the top of the pile." He snorted. "Still remember that. He didn't stick around for a drink, but it struck me, you know? Why the hell would Nick do that? So, I dug out your app and pulled your file. And I read what he saw." Allison settled the side of her head against the pillow of her arm on the bedside, listening, while Rumlow's thumb still moved over her hand. "The potential. ...He was right."

"Do you think he knew, back then?" she asked. "About HYDRA?"

"I don't know," he frowned, with a small shake of his head. "He was a smart man. Maybe he had a suspicion, but he never let on." Brock shrugged, as best he could. "Hindsight being what it is, maybe he was placing people he knew he could rely on. Once in awhile, I know he'd make some recommendations in other departments, but you were the only one he ever pushed for in STRIKE. He always liked you."

Allison took in what he said, wondering if Fury did have a plan for her all along. After a moment of contemplation, she shook it off. It didn't matter. She had to focus on the present, now.

The door opened and both of their attentions turned to the end of the room. Allison sat up, her hands still wrapped around Brock's. The dark haired woman in a lab coat from earlier came in. Her eyes shifted focus between the two former agents, as she crossed the length of the room, before smiling, with a subtle nod hello. A pair of armed and uniformed agents came in behind her, posting watch from either side of the doorway. Once the men settled into their positions, Allison turned her gaze to the doctor.

"Good evening," she said, looking down at Rumlow. "I'm Dr. Cho. How are you feeling?"

"Like I got hit by a fuckin' truck," Brock answered, bluntly.

Allison gave him a little smirk and Cho smiled her understanding, moving to the side of the bed and excusing herself past Allison. Putting a blood pressure cuff around Rumlow's arm, she asked for his pain on a scale of one to ten, as the cuff automatically inflated and calculated. He said it was manageable at a 6. Dr. Cho nodded her approval, noting she could increase his pain medication, but Rumlow refused. Allison cocked her head disapprovingly, but knew he wouldn't take any more drugs than he wanted, trying to keep his head clear.

"You have several serious injuries, Mr. Rumlow," the doctor reminded him, gingerly lifting dressings to check wounds. "Most people experiencing your-"

"I been through worse, doc," he assured her. "This is a walk in the park."

Cho reluctantly nodded, resetting the gauze covering the stitches on his side. She turned her attention to Allison, wondering, "And Ms. Addams, how are you? No bleeding from your stitches? Any new pain?"

"I'm fine," Allison shook her head, with a polite smile.

"So, it's Addams again?" Rumlow quietly teased, quirking up an eyebrow at Allison.

"Shut up," she smirked.

Eyeing over the IVs running into Brock's arm, the doctor told them, "You both need rest. I understand it's been a long couple of days. Ms. Addams, you're due for another dose of pain medicine, if you choose."

The door at the end of the room opened again. This time Rogers appeared. He looked over Brock and Allison, before turning his eyes up to the doctor. He gave her a brief nod to greet her.

"Dr. Cho," he said and the woman smiled and nodded back. Coming into the middle of the room, he looked at Allison. "Time to go."

Allison shared a look with Brock. There was a look of determination in his eyes not to let her leave. She smiled, giving him a subtle nod and a squeeze of his hand. She scooted her chair away from the bed to stand. Rumlow's hand followed up with hers, for as far as he could reach. Allison gave him a warm smile, before stepping away and Brock sent a warning glare to Rogers.

"How long until we can talk to him?" Rogers checked, ignoring Rumlow to see Cho.

"The anesthesia has worn off," she noted, "but he needs to rest. I'll ask you to wait until the morning, if you can."

The agents stepped forward to stand behind Allison. Rogers inclined his head to the doorway and one of the men took her by the elbow to escort her out. At the door, Allison threw one last look over her shoulder to Brock and sent him a reassuring smile. The anger and concern on his face followed her out the door and Rogers fell in step behind the agents as they rejoined the rest of the escort detail standing by in the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is Chapter 50 of my little pet project! (I know- it says 51, but I put a chpt in to let you guys know about going on vacation and I'm too lazy to remove it and renumber all my links/posts on tumblr).
> 
> [grabs you and hugs the shit outta you] [mwah!]
> 
> Thank you SO MUCH for sticking around and reading my little fic! I can't even quantify how much your kudos and comments mean to me on this one. Thank you thank you thank you!!!


	52. Chapter 52

July 2015

Returned to her cell, Allison checked her watch. She had been given about a half hour with Rumlow. It wasn't much, but it was something she never expected to happen in the first place. She wasn't ungrateful for the visit, but she was wary of the motive behind it. A few minutes after the cell door clanked shut behind her, a nurse appeared at the door's window to ask if Allison wanted another dose of pain medication. She accepted, hoping to dull the aches and occasional stings she felt when she moved.

At 6 p.m. sharp, dinner was delivered, via the hatch in the door. It was a genuine, full meal; chicken and vegetables instead of gruel and even came with salt and pepper. There was an air of authority about the guards when they interacted with her at the door, but nothing excessively intimidating. She wasn't causing problems for them anyway.

She sighed to herself, aggravated by her injuries. To pass time, she should be doing push-ups, sit-ups, or any other exercise she could do in confinement, like she was trained to do to stay fit during captivity. She decided to give her wounds a day's rest before she tried to do any exercises. While she was still, she sat on her bed, propped up against the wall with her pillow behind her, so she could see the door. She figured she was quite the disappointment to whoever was monitoring the feed from the two cameras in the corners of her cell.

A nurse came around with the final dose of medication for the day at 9 p.m. Figuring she had a little time to kill before she went to sleep, she kicked off her boots and took off her uniform pants. She gave them the same cleaning she had done earlier with her shirt, hanging the pants by the belt loops hooked over the handles of the sink taps to dry. She curled up under her blanket and laid down to sleep.

The next morning, she was awake by 5:30. She was sitting up, watching her door, when the next shift's agent on duty gave it a hard knock to be heard. She dressed and met the guard at her door. She wasn't handcuffed this time. Instead, her hands were occupied by the towel and small toiletries kit she was given. Allison was still moved with a full security detail, but, at the entrance to the detention showers, her escort scaled down to two armed female agents. A nurse followed them in a minute later. Allison's stitches and staples were checked before she showered and the nurse told her she would be waiting when she finished, to redress her wounds.

Breakfast was served at 7 a.m. She got up, stretching against the aches and pain in her muscles and limbs, as she met him at the door for her tray of eggs, sausage, toast, and orange juice. The tray came with a tiny plastic cup with her next round of medicine inside. 30 minutes later, the guard was back for her tray and told her she was being moved back to the interview room. Allison nodded, putting her boots back on and combed out her hair with her fingers, pulling it back again in a French braid. When she was done, she sat on the edge of her bed and waited to be transferred.

Back in the interview room, Allison sat patiently. She traced over the link of one of her chains, distractedly, under the silent observance of the armed men in the corners of the room. She didn't waste the energy to be anxious over what to expect. There were no other weapons or equipment in the room to manipulate a prisoner and her guards had insured she was firmly secured to the table. If they were planning to beat a confession out of her the old fashioned way, she would tell them whatever they wanted to know anyway.

The door unlocked and Rogers appeared, going through his ritual of waiting for the door to secure behind him before stepping further into the room. He carried a tablet in one hand. He sat down, putting the tablet aside, and folded his arms as he settled into the back of his chair. Rogers didn't respond to her 'Good morning, Sir' and she guessed at how the conversation was about to go. He went straight to business.

"Tell me about Brock Rumlow."

She could imagine several angles to the request, but wasn't sure where to begin. "What do you want to know?"

A quick frown passed over his expression, before he narrowed it down. "Explain your relationship."

Allison let out a sigh of resignation, always knowing in the back of her mind that she might have to explain herself to someone one day. She just hadn't figured it would be under these circumstances. She scooted back in her chair a couple of inches to sit straighter, preparing for a long morning.

"I first met Commander Rumlow on 4 September 2010," Allison began, "when I was oriented with my class as a candidate for STRIKE Team Echo. Prior to that, I only knew of him by reputation and had seen him around the Triskelion. On 12 December of that year, I qualified with Agents Mickelson and Shuster for Echo and he became my superior officer, as he was the Division Commander for STRIKE." There was a split second's delay, when Allison swallowed, before admitting to anyone for the first time, "On 16 August 2011, the relationship became personal, when I accepted an invitation for a drink to discuss a positive result for a mission I had participated in the month before that earned me a promotion to Sergeant and supervising officer of 1st Squad's Fire Team Bravo. At the end of the night, we kissed and were involved in a romantic relationship since then."

"In direct violation of SHIELD's fraternization policy and rules for the chain of command," Rogers added.

"Yes, Sir," she nodded once.

"What did you get out of the relationship?" he questioned.

"Nothing," Allison shook her head. "Cmdr. Rumlow's and my behavior was consistent with decorum and every other policy, while we interacted on missions and in daily business. If you check my service record for SHIELD, you'll even find a couple of disciplinary notations for minor breeches of procedure on missions." Allison grumblingly added, "-despite the missions' positive outcomes." Looking the Captain in the eye, she assured him, "My private relationship with Cmdr. Rumlow was kept strictly compartmentalized and separate from work."

"You received no favoritism?" he seemed to doubt.

"None."

"On 18 July 2012, you were appointed to STRIKE's Horsemen," he pointed out, "where you were assigned the callsign 'Death' and given several privileges, including increased pay and higher security clearance, over other STRIKE operators."

"Correct."

"And you're saying, you weren't given any favoritism?" Rogers pressed.

Shaking her head, Allison explained, "Promotion or removal from the Horsemen was based on annual statistical data gathered from performances in several areas of training and mission success that was kept on all STRIKE team members. I've always been a high performer among the teams. My promotion was consistent with the selection process of other Horsemen before me. To the best of my knowledge, I earned that."

"You were part of Project Insight," he accused. "You're on security footage with Rumlow in the bays and onboard the ships. What was your role with the project?"

"I had none," she swept her head. "Cmdr. Rumlow showed me the carriers, provided technical specifications, and outlined project parameters only a few months before the attempted launch. My clearance allowed me access to the bays and aboard the ships, but I had no assignment with any aspect of Insight and limited discussions with anyone about the project."

Rogers nodded, smally. "When SHIELD fell, your credentials were found in the rubble of Tower B in the Triskelion," he moved on. "Where were you during HYDRA's attempt to launch Project Insight?"

"I had just finished my watch rotation for garrison duty of the Triskelion," Allison began, "as part of the increased security after Director Fury was assassinated. I was in the locker room on the 23rd floor, securing my gear, when you made your announcement about HYDRA. I grabbed what gear I had and left to try and find you or Cmdr. Rumlow. That's why my ID and personal effects were found in the debris.

"Before the tower collapsed," she explained, "I was trying to get to the Insight Control Room. When Insight 01 hit the building, I was able to get downstairs and take shelter in the elevator lobby of Tower A. The fire sprinklers held down enough smoke and dust for me to find my way out. I helped a couple people across the bridge and I left, before anyone could recognize me."

"You ran," Rogers gruffly summarized.

With an annoyed cock of her head, for his accusing tone, Allison chose to ignore his comment and went on. "Months before SHIELD fell, Cmdr. Rumlow had hinted that something might go wrong. He didn't elaborate, but he told me-" She paused, inhaling evenly, at the recollection of the times Brock had returned badly injured from suspicious "missions" and the promise he had her make, months before HYDRA was exposed inside SHIELD. "He told me, if anything went wrong, to go to his place and wait for him there."

"If anything went wrong?" the Captain warily repeated.

"I didn't know what he was talking about," Allison said. "He told me I would know when it happened. That's all." She let out a heavy breath and continued. "I went to his townhouse, like I promised, but he wasn't there. I showered, put on fresh clothes, and gathered the things I kept there. While I was- waiting for him, I searched the place." Her hands balled into loose fists on the table, at the memory. "I found a safe under the floorboards, hidden under the rug in his office. Inside were several dossiers and files from HYDRA and a tablet. 

"I knew there would be traces of me from poker nights there, but I grabbed a towel, to try and wipe my prints from places it would seem I shouldn't have been in his house. I took my things and went home." Her hands began to unfurl, the further her story took her from Brock's place. "I packed a weapon and some money into a go bag I kept in the closet. When I walked out of my building, Mickelson and a couple of operators from Delta pulled up, telling me to come with them. Mick told me, they had orders to find me and people from Delta and Echo."

"Rumlow ordered them to find you," Rogers presumed.

"I don't know," she shrugged. "Mick said there was a protocol they were following. Maybe there was a list."

"Then what?"

"We left DC," Allison recalled. "There was a safe house we stayed at, on a lake in Virginia. They said the location was compromised. We were only there one night, before they sent us to a facility in Ithaca. As we were leaving, they handed me some burn bags to take out of the bunker beneath the farm house. I stole a map from one. In Ithaca, Mick helped me blend in. He identified locations on the map I took; which ones were safe houses, communications bases, etcetera."

"Rumlow was in Ithaca," he lead her back to Brock.

"No."

"Who was in charge then?" Rogers asked.

A small smirk, still in disbelief, tugged back the corner of her mouth. "Jack Rollins." She shook her head. "Rollins and other men I didn't recognize."

"Where was Rumlow?"

"I don't know," Allison shrugged. "According to HYDRA's files, I was one of them. I attended SitReps in Ithaca with the other STRIKE operators who made it in. They told us you drowned in the Potomac when the carriers crashed. After a couple of days, Rollins announced they had recovered Cmdr. Rumlow. He was injured, but they didn't say where he was.

"The base in Ithaca was raided," she told him. "I took the chance to run. I took what weapons and gear I could scavenge and disappeared. For all I know, they could've thought I died in the attack or been captured. I went back to DC. I even watched my graveside service. I started looking for dead drops from Cmdr. Rumlow and leaving them for him, but nothing ever came through. After a few weeks of waiting, hiding out in cheap motels in Virginia, I left again. I didn't know what to do or where to go, so I just disappeared; laying low, staying on the move. I needed to wait for all the attention about DC to die down and be sure no one was looking for me. When I was, I got back to work.

"I had gotten access to the files on the tablet I took from Cmdr. Rumlow's home," she explained. "I studied what I could, finding files and credentials for myself listing me as one of HYDRA's undercover operatives inside SHIELD. I used that info on several occasssions to access and move about within HYDRA facilities.

"Working off the map, I had found an abandoned bunker in Pennsylvania, last December. I staked it out and, after a couple weeks of surveillance, found out it was a dead site. I spent the better part of January getting the bunker operational for my needs and sifting through intel I could reconstruct from burn barrels and damaged computers, using it as my own base of operations. I used the map and notes Mick gave me to start infiltrating HYDRA facilities for any intel I could get. In February, Sgt. Barnes found the bunker, and me. I presume he told you what happened since then," she concluded.

Rogers nodded, saying, "He told me about you helping him undo the HYDRA programming."

"Just the trigger word," Allison corrected. "I didn't find out 'til later about the extent of the encoding."

"You helped him," he said. "Why?"

"We had an arrangement," she answered, matter of factly. "We were both looking for Cmdr. Rumlow. The work was easier with a partner."

"You betrayed him," the Captain bluntly reminded her. "You shot him and turned him over to Rumlow and HYDRA."

"I did," she nodded. "The facility turned out to be a more complex target than we originally knew. Mickelson hadn't been there before to be able to tell me much. I underestimated the security's response to a perimeter breech. I only shot to wound. They were on us too fast. We wouldn't have been able to outrun them. I had used a HYDRA uniform I took from the bunker to disguise myself on the base. There was a chance I could use it and the credentials I found to persuade HYDRA I was one of them and I'd captured Sgt. Barnes. It was a gambit, but it worked. And that's where I found Cmdr. Rumlow."

"He was in charge of that base?" Rogers checked.

Allison shook her head, unsure. "He was there," she conceded, "and clearly in control, but I don't know if it was by assignment or just his presence on post, at the time, that gave him the authority."

"He let you leave," he lead her on, sounding more incredulous.

"He asked me to stay with HYDRA," Allison said. "He assured my safety there. But I told him I couldn't and that I wouldn't leave Sgt. Barnes either. That was four days ago and that's when I came to New York for your help.

"Cmdr. Rumlow updated the tablet for me before I left. The one I promised to turn over; that Sgt. Barnes gave you. He arranged for my access back onto the base and to Sgt. Barnes. He used his position to direct security away from us and provided the vehicle for us to get back to the gate for our egress to the extraction."

"Rumlow handed over data on HYDRA and helped you rescue Bucky?" Rogers scoffed.

Allison nodded. "Yes, Sir."

"And what was Rollins doing? Whose side was he on?"

"He was HYDRA," she confirmed, lifting her chin at an angle to present her bruised jaw to Rogers, "and he was expressing his displeasure that I was not."

The Captain studied the discoloration on the side of her face, for a moment, until Allison centered herself again and he went on. "Rollins was in the woods with you yesterday. Was he defecting also?"

"No," Allison shook her head, with a hint of regret in her voice. "He was part of the squads that came to recover myself and the defecting agents," she nodded.

"He's dead. Who killed him?"

Allison swallowed and answered, "Cmdr. Rumlow."

"They were friends; best friends, for years," Rogers pointed out, sounding as if he didn't believe her. "Why?"

"Because Jack was going to kill me," she said, inhaling slowly to settle the uneasy feeling in her gut.

"You risked Bucky's life to save yourself," the Captain summed up. "You risked yours, coming here and then going back for him. And then, you risked your life for Rumlow. You helped one friend leave HYDRA and left the other dead in the woods. You, a SHIELD agent masquerading as HYDRA and, apparently, loyal to no one but yourself and your...boyfriend."

"I think that's oversimplifying things, but you could say that," she disagreed, ignoring the obvious disdain in his last word.

Rogers frowned at her, saying, "It's the simplest version of this cluster fuck anyone can come up with."

"Fair enough," she shrugged, not having a better argument.

"You should have just come in," he insisted. "You shouldn't have ran. You only look more guilty."

"I didn't run," she argued, her patience wearing thin as her physical discomfort from her injuries grew the longer the questioning went on. "I was trying to figure out what went wrong and find Cmdr. Rumlow. And where would I have turned myself in, anyway? To who? SHIELD? There wasn't a SHIELD anymore. To the government or to you?" Her eyes raked up and down what she could see of him across the table. "I was already convicted just for being in STRIKE. There was no safe haven for me, no friendlies waiting. I was on my own."

"You had HYDRA," Rogers dryly reminded her.

"They had me," Allison scowled. "The only reason I got through that, instead of ending up imprisoned or dead, or worse, was because of what Brock and Mick did to protect me. It was a dangerous game, but it worked. And I don't regret playing it, because I'm alive and so are they. And so is Sgt. Barnes."

There was a standoff of sorts between them, neither seeming to tolerate the discussion anymore, in the silence that followed Allison's last comment. Rogers stood, picking up his tablet and pushing his chair back into the table. He gave her another once over and she stared back. 

"You'll be here for awhile," he told her, flatly. "We have more questions for you."

Rogers walked back to the door and waited for it to open. As he walked out, a pair of dark suited men came in. They waited for the door to secure behind them, before coming up to the table. One of them set down a large, hard shelled case on the tabletop. When they introduced themselves as Agent Mowry and Agent Ballatori, Allison looked them both over.

"Agent and Agent, huh?" she sarcastically mused. "You two related?"

She wasn't in the mood anymore for questions. Although she didn't blame him, the tension and occasional hostility she had already received from Steve had worn her patience. All she wanted was to see Brock again.


	53. Chapter 53

July 2015

With her hooked up to a lie detector, the twins, as Allison had named them in her head, were thorough. They had, most likely, been on the other side of the glass taking notes from Steve's interview. While Rogers seemed content with her answers, the two agents probed deeper, challenging her with dates and detailed questions about particular missions. She answered every question they asked, being specific and frank with her responses. 

They had barely begun talking about her third year with the STRIKE division, when there was a knock on the door. On the other side, another suited agent nodded to the twins and flicked a pair of fingers to beckon someone to come out. Agent Mowry stepped over, meeting the third agent in the doorway when it opened. The men had a short whispered exchange and nodded their apparent understanding of each other, before parting. The door remained open, as Mowry came back to the table.

He inclined his head toward his partner, saying, "That's enough for now." He turned to Allison, adding, "The doctor wants to see you."

As if on cue, Dr. Cho appeared in the doorway, coming in with a polite nod to greet the agents. She went around the table to see Allison, asking, "Ms. Addams, how are you feeling today?"

"Fine," she answered. Concise and direct, like her answers had been all day.

The doctor looked her over, telling the agents to remove the equipment attached to Allison's arms, hands, and chest. When they began to argue that they weren't finished with the interview, Cho scowled at them. She insisted and the agents looked to the mirrored window in the wall. When there was no contradicting command through the speaker in the ceiling, Ballatori began taking off the monitors and leads linking Allison to the computer in the agents' case on the table.

Free of the sensors and cables, Dr. Cho moved around Allison, checking the injuries she could see on her arms and her face, before deciding, "I would like Ms. Addams moved to the infirmary." The agents both started to protest, before Dr. Cho explained, gesturing to Allison's upper arm and addressing the mirror, "She has wounds that need redressing."

The twins seemed annoyed when there was no argument from whoever was monitoring the interview from the observation room. Dr. Cho smiled approvingly and asked the uniformed agents in the room to escort Allison to the medical floor. She was transferred without any further question.

In the infirmary, Allison was uncuffed to remove her shirt for the doctor to see the back of her shoulder. Sitting on the edge of an exam bed, Allison was still as a nurse tended the weeping wounds on her side and arm. Her leg didn't need any extra attention.

Cho made notes on a tablet, as she looked over the stitches on Allison's shoulder. "Some serous or serosanguinous drainage is not unusual," she assured her. "That just means you're healing. We'll check your dressings more frequently."

Allison nodded along. She was quite familiar with the healing process, from her training and her own experiences. She answered the doctor's questions about her pain and took the next round of medication offered to manage it. The hard chair in the interview room wasn't meant for comfort, but, with her injuries, Allison was particularly uncomfortable. Allison didn't complain about it or make it a point to add to Cho's assessment. She knew there wasn't a point and hoped that the drugs would make the rest of her time being questioned, at least, slightly more bearable. 

She was surprised, however, when Cho told the senior agent on her security detail that, "Ms. Addams will need some rest, before she's questioned any further. I believe it's still lunch time. She should be given a break for a meal. Perhaps they can continue this evening, if she's feeling up to it."

"It's not really up to me, Doc," Allison corrected.

Dr. Cho seemed to consider the comment a moment. "Regardless," she decided, "I've made my recommendation." She nodded to the agents, as Allison pulled her shirt back on. "You'll pass along my instructions?" she checked.

The senior agent nodded. "Yes, ma'am." He reached for the microphone at his shoulder, advising, "Prisoner's returning to Detention."

Allison was returned directly to her cell. There was an agent standing by her open cell door, waiting for her with a tray of food. Her handcuffs were released and she was handed her somewhat late lunch. She took a seat on her bed to eat and the door was locked behind her. She passed the empty tray back through the door, when the guard requested it later. Allison reclined on her bed, stretching out her sore body and aching muscles to wait for her escort back to the interview room.

Aug 2011

"Oh, my god," Janine marveled, quietly, nudging Allison beside her.

"What?" Allison distractedly asked, turning her eyes up from her lunch to pan her gaze across the busy cafeteria to see what Janine was on about.

"It's him," she whispered. "He's here."

Standing at the edge of the room, holding a tray of food and looking for a vacant seat, was a new face. Allison looked over the specimen across the way. She sized him up at about 6'2" and an easy 240 pounds of solid muscle. He was unmistakably the super soldier the agency had been buzzing about for the last few months. With blonde hair that fell disobediently across his forehead, his blue eyes settled on an open table for four near the windows. The din in the room noticeably lowered, and Allison was aware of damned near every head in the room on a swivel to watch the new guy beeline his way to his seat. She was sure he was as well.

"Jesus Christ," Janine muttered, her eyes glued to the man walking by a few rows of tables away. "Look at him. He's huge." She blinked and realized, "He's perfect."

"Janie," Allison scolded, trying not to snicker. "You're married, for god's sake."

"I'm just saying," she shook her head. Janine glanced at Allison, adding, "I heard he showed up the other day. Knew I'd see him eventually."

"He reported to the division on Tuesday," Allison nodded.

Allison scanned the cafeteria. The secondhand embarrassment she felt for Capt. Rogers made her feel uncomfortable. Everyone was staring at him. Even the ones trying to be sly or polite about it were noticeably gawking and talking about him in hushed tones. She looked back at the Captain. He unfolded a napkin to his lap and picked up his fork, moving his food around a bit before salting it. She watched him take a quick glance around the room, before he dropped his head and cut into his meal.

She barely tuned back in to Janine saying, "like 67 years, or something, _in ice_. How is that even possible?"

"Hm?" Allison hummed, looking at her friend. "Oh. Uh, I don't know. Obviously, whatever they did to him with Project Rebirth kept him alive." She frowned, eyeing the room again. "Can you believe this?" she muttered and Janine asked what she meant. "Everybody, just staring at him, like he's some sideshow attraction. And he's just sitting there, like it's not even happening. Poor guy."

"Can you blame them?" she asked. "He's so handsome. And his story? He's a living legend. Of course, everyone's curious."

Allison put down her fork, deciding, "I'm gonna go say something."

"You're what?" Janine choked on her drink. "Ally, no."

"Why not?" Allison wondered, with a small shrug.

"What would you even say?" Janine pressed. 

"He's just a guy, Janie," she told her. "So, he's crazy strong and is technically old enough to be my grandfather, but he shouldn't have to sit there alone. He's going to be working with SHIELD, now's as good a time as any to start making friends."

"If I go over," Janine chuckled, "I'd end up throwing myself at him."

Allison laughed and shook her head. Janine watched, with a proud grin, as Allison stood and picked up her tray. Allison snaked her way around the tables in the large cafeteria, until she stopped beside the super soldier. She cleared her throat, gently, to announce herself. The Captain looked up, mid-chew, his brow rising in curiosity. He swallowed, wiping his napkin over his mouth.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," she began, "but I was wondering, may I join you?"

She smiled at the vintage chivalry that immediately kicked in, when he realized what she had said and the Captain stood. Gesturing a hand to the seat across from him, he answered with a gentlemanly, "Yes, please."

Allison nodded her thanks, putting her tray down across from his and pulling out the chair. The room seemed to quiet a little further, and Allison felt the weight of the stares partially distributed to her shoulders. When she was situated, the Captain sat back down, resetting his napkin in his lap and taking a curious look at Allison. 

Her smile brightened, offering her hand over the table. "I'm Allison."

"Steve," he replied, shaking her hand.

"I know," she admitted, with a small tilt of her head to subtly acknowledge his new fame.

Rogers chuckled, shyly. "Pretty sure everyone does," he said, taking another quick glance around of the cafeteria, as he picked up his fork again. 

"Hard to keep secrets around here," Allison quipped. "Bunch of gossipy spies."

She grinned, at his genuine laugh, and he seemed to relax a little. "So, what do you do here?" he asked.

"Gossipy spy," she winked and he covered his mouth with his fist to keep from spitting out his drink in amusement of her unexpected joke. Allison snickered and elaborated, "I'm with STRIKE."

"What a coincidence. Me, too," he chuckled and Allison laughed at his bit of humor. "Which team?"

"Echo," she told him, going back to her meal.

Rogers seemed surprised. "You're the one," he figured, gesturing at her with the end of his fork. 

"I'm not sure if I should own that or not," she said, with a playfully suspicious squint in her eye.

"No," he shook his head. "No, I meant, I've been trying to familiarize myself with the teams. I haven't met many people, outside of Delta, yet. I was wondering when I'd meet you."

"Still sounds a bit ominous," Allison teased. 

"It's supposed to sound like a compliment," Rogers genuinely, if not a little awkwardly, assured her. "It's quite an accomplishment, as I understand it. Being on Echo Team, I mean."

Allison felt a soft flush in her cheeks, humbled to get the approval of Captain America. "Thanks."

"I bet you've got some stories to tell," he figured, quirking up an interested eyebrow.

"I'm sure you do, too," she considered, with a tip of her head his way. 

"Something like that," the Captain humbly grinned.

Allison nodded, thoughtfully, as she ate. Rogers seemed like a nice enough guy. And it seemed the longer they talked, the less people seemed to stare. He was starting to fit in.

"Well, if you're interested," she began to offer, "my squad is in rotation through the end of next week. I'll be here everyday, unless we're deployed for an assignment. If you want, we could swap some stories tomorrow. Barring no surprise sorties, how 'bout same place, same time?"

Rogers paused, his drink halfway to his mouth. He grinned, with a small nod. "Yeah, sure. I'd like that."

"Ohh," he smiled, his lips pressing together to keep the laughter in his chest. Sitting on the floor, with his arms resting over the tops of his bent up knees, he tilted his head back into the wall to look up at the ceiling and told her, with a chuckle in his throat,  "You. are. fucked."

"Shut up," she told him, arm draped over her eyes, as she stretched out on her back.

"Don't get mad at me," he chided her. "It's not my fault we're in here. _You_ got us into this fuckin' mess, remember?"

"I'm not talking to you," Allison grumbled. "Leave me alone."

"You only had four friends you could ever depend on to get you out of shit like this," he told her. "One's laid out in a hospital bed-" His head lolled over on the wall so he could see her, as he pointedly added, "because of _you_." Face turned back up to the ceiling, he continued to taunt her, saying, "Mick already cashed in his chips for a free ride home. We both know, Rogers'll never trust you again. And me?" He shrugged. "Well, we know I can't help you. ...Not that I would."

Allison shifted, uncomfortable, cocking up a knee to tip against the wall. "Shut. up," she growled.

"How ya gonna get out of this one, Princess? Hmm?" Jack hummed, the sound becoming a mocking rumble of laughter held back behind his arrogant smirk, as he turned his chin down again to look across the room at her.

"I said, shut up!"

Allison threw aside her arm and shot up in bed, her eyes flying like daggers to his spot on the floor. Her chest heaving with anger, she stopped, her breath hitching. She swallowed hard, looking around the empty cell. 

July 2015

"Fuck," she exhaled, dragging a hand down her face.

She used the heel of her palm, wiping away the dampness under her eye. Allison reclined back onto her cot, taking a few slow, even breathes to settle her angry pulse. A few minutes later, there was a knock on her door from the outside. The hatch opened and the guard gave her orders, preparing her to be returned to the interview room. Allison sat up, lowering her feet to the floor.

"Yeah," she nodded, a little slow to feel grounded again. "Okay." 

It was routine, by now. Allison backed up to the door, baring her wrists to be cuffed. She was escorted, in the center of a heavily armed detail, from the detention area of the tower to the interview room. She went to her chair without direction and was still while her handcuffs were exchanged for the shackles on the table. When her restraints were changed, she sat and waited.

The security detail fanned themselves out to the corners of the room, as usual. The twins returned to the room and reset their instruments on her. They wasted no time, picking up where they had left off with their earlier questioning. Allison took a deep breath to begin.

It was a long three hours before they quit. In hindsight, she hadn't thought that her career could be reduced to a pair of conversations totaling almost seven hours. Granted, there were some moments they didn't question. She attributed that to whoever having likely sorted out some of the things she was sure of herself were done for SHIELD, but it was physically and mentally exahusting nonetheless. 

She watched from her seat, silent, while Agent Ballatori and Agent Mowry packed up their equipment and gathered their notes. They offered no goodbye or other formality, when they left. Allison watched the agents leave and the door shut and lock behind them. After a long minute of silence in the room, she looked around. None of the uniformed agents moved. She let out a quiet, but aggravated, sigh. She knew she wasn't done yet.


	54. Chapter 54

July 2015

She sat up a little straighter, surprised when she lifted her eyes, at the sound of the door unlocking, and saw Barnes waiting on the other side for it to open. They watched each other as he entered, uninterested in waiting for the door to re-secure behind him the way Rogers was conditioned to. He stood on the far side of the table for a long moment, staring down at her, exhaling before he wiped a hand down over his mouth and pulled out the chair to sit. His posture was stiff and his expression unreadable, as he settled in to his seat. After Steve and the Agents' interviews, Allison was still on edge and suspicious.

"So, what's this?" Allison wondered, letting her head loll to the side a bit to study him. "Karma?"

His eyes flitted down when she made fists of her hands and raised them to put her cuffs and chains on display. There was a dark humor in how the tables had turned. They were a long way away from that first day together in the bunker, where they tried to kill each other and she was turning the screws on him as her prisoner. Barnes looked back up to meet her gaze and shook his head.

"All the bullshit this morning wasn't enough? Is it the Sergeant or the Soldier they sent to get my confession as an 'enemy of the State'?" she asked, resting her hands back on the tabletop. "One way if I comply, the other if I resist?"

"I'm not here to hurt you, Kate," he promised. A small huff escaped him and a self-deprecating smirk flashed at the side of his mouth. "Lt. Addams, I should say. That seems to finally be cleared up." Barnes gave her a discerning look. "But I guess I don't know what to call you."

"I'll answer to either," she noted. "Whichever you prefer."

He jutted his chin, making a reference to her, as he mentioned, "I thought you didn't like that uniform."

Allison looked down at herself, cocking her head, as she considered the HYDRA standard issue clothing a moment. "Beats the prison uniform they laid out for me. Guess I'm just trying to put off the uniform change as long as I can. The inmate shit doesn't look too comfy, anyway."

"You have two different names," Barnes pointed out, "played dead and lied to everyone who ever knew you. You're supposed to be SHIELD, but you saved Rumlow's life, and a handful of other HYDRA agents. ...Nobody likes to admit they don't know something, but I will say, you're a hard girl to figure out." His eyes wondered between hers for a moment. "...What's the truth?"

"Whatever they say, I suppose," she shrugged, inclining her head to reference whoever might be watching from behind the mirrored glass in one wall of the room.

"They're saying all kinds of things about you," he told her.

"Yeah, well," she tiredly muttered, "when you're popular... Didn't seem like they were paying much attention to what I said, anyway."

"Steve says you're a double agent," Barnes elaborated. "I've heard some people say you murdered innocent politicians and civilians for HYDRA, under the guise of missions for SHIELD; that you were a part of Project Insight and fought against SHIELD to keep those carriers up." There was a soft click of Allison's tongue, a twitch in the corner of her eye, and a subtle cock of her head, disapproving of the last accusation, while he went on. "Steve showed my the files SHIELD has on you; your service records and what they've kept on you lately. He says that you saving Rumlow pretty much proves you were loyal to HYDRA."

"Obviously," she sarcastically agreed, with an unamused roll of her eyes. Allison set her eyes on his, scrutinizing, yet curious. "What are you saying?"

Barnes folded his arms and leaned back in his chair. "I told them what I know."

She nodded, thoughtfully and slowly. "That could be pretty damning," she conceded.

"I told them how you helped me," he went on and her gaze fell to her hands. "About undoing the trigger and the HYDRA facilities we raided. I gave them the intel we- Well, that you gathered. They're going over everything now."

"And how I kept you at the bunker, locked up and doling out bruises and threats," she filled in, her tone with an undercurrent of self-loathing. "How I gave you back to HYDRA."

"Yeah," he nodded. "I told them how you played the game."

"Damned again," she unhappily mused, with a misplaced and quickly wilting smile, picking absentmindedly at her thumbnail.

"I admit," Barnes began, raising and lowering a hand from his arm in a kind of shrug, his brow arching in consideration, "I thought you had done it. I thought you'd left me to them." She could only look at him for a fraction of a second, before her guilt forced her eyes back down. "And I was pissed. The time we spent together in that bunker, taking on HYDRA, stealing intel; didn't mean shit. You all but shot me in the back and handed me over on a silver platter."

He leaned forward, fast and aggressive, one arm along the table edge and the other raised from the elbow, his hand straining frustratedly in the air. "I could have killed you," he angrily reminded her. "In that room, with your gun to your head, I could have pulled that fuckin' trigger, right there! ...And that was just for leaving me to them. That was before I knew the rest; about you and Rumlow."

From the tops of her eyes, she saw him lower his hand and sit back. He inhaled deeply and continued, the growl in his throat subsiding as he noted, "But you came back." Allison swallowed, moving on to a different fingernail. "You didn't have to. You were set. You could have blended in with them or you could have walked away and saved yourself. ...But you came back. I wanna know, why?"

It took a pause before she shrugged, quietly reminding him, "Because I told you, I would help you. Because we had a deal."

"Because you were my friend," he told her and she hazarded another quick glance up.

"I don't have any friends anymore," she asserted, with a sweep of her head and a purposeful tug to rattle her chains. "They all think I'm a liar; a traitor. It's just me now."

"You've been on your own enough, since DC," Barnes agreed. "Probably looks that way." His hand waved, to reference the building. "Everybody here's suspicious and you're locked up in chains."

"Why are you here?" she finally asked, setting her eyes on his and waiting in the pause for an answer.

"I want to help you, Kate. Fuck," he said, before grumbling a correction to himself, "Allison." She couldn't help her quiet snort and she let a thin smile slip, when she saw Barnes' frustrated smirk again and shake of his head. "Old habits, huh?" he softly joked.

"Yeah," she agreed, with a bob of her head, as she returned to her distracted picking.

She heard him exhale heavily, from across the table, ending a minute's worth of silence. "How did we get here?" Barnes muttered.

"I don't know...but I'm sorry it was like this," she shook her head.

There was another pause between them, before Barnes spoke up again. "I'm trying to help you," he said. "I don't know what else I can do, though. I've told them everything, but nothing's up to me."

"You don't have to," Allison assured him. "You lived up to your end of the deal. You helped me find Rumlow. We're good."

He drew in a long breath, sitting up a little taller as the air broadened his chest and he tightened his arms across himself. "Yeah," he reluctantly agreed.

"I should have tol-"

"No shit," Barnes gruffly interrupted.

"Right." She jutted her chin, her brow knitting down, incredulously. "Because you actually would have helped me, if you knew why I was looking for him?" Allison sarcastically scoffed.

"Because we were partners!" he bit back, sitting up and stabbing a finger down into the table. "I _never_ lied to you!"

It was still in the room again, for another long minute, before Allison meekly offered, "I'm sorry I didn't read you in." Her eyes fell to her hands again. "But he's all I have left."

When there wasn't a response, she looked up. Allison was taken aback by the sympathetic look Barnes gave her. She didn't look away this time, watching him give her a piteous sigh. She didn't like being pitied and her jaw worked as she swallowed again, uneasy at the sentiment in his expression.

"He's not as easy to figure out as you," Barnes finally said.

"No," she quietly agreed. "But you think you figured me out?"

"Maybe they don't know who Allison Addams is, but I do,” he told her, with a thoughtful nod. Allison watched him, carefully, as he went on. “She was the first woman to qualify for STRIKE Team Echo. She's a master spy, sharpshooter, and tactician. She had a 0% failure rating on missions and consistently topped out on her evaluation scores. She led an Echo fire team. For the last two years before SHIELD fell, she was one of their Horsemen and her name was Death. She speaks five languages, fluently, and she was captured, interrogated, and tortured for 18 days, after a mission went wrong in Southern Africa." His point made her discomfort grow and she dropped her gaze, lacing her fingers together. "She survived 18 days," he noted, "without even giving up her name. She spent a year taking on HYDRA, alone, and she captured The Winter Soldier by herself. ...She didn’t leave me to HYDRA.” He paused, leaning into the table again, to quietly add, “And I know what he said about you, Addy.” The name brought her attention up. Her eyes searched between his, finding a sincerity to it all instead of the pity before. "They haven't decided what to do with him yet...but he's safe here. I told Steve what he did.”

Eyes ticking up to the camera in the corner of the room ahead of her, she asked, “What did you tell him he did?”

“I told him, he kept you safe,” Bucky answered.

Allison's gaze flicked over to Barnes, a heat coming up behind her eyes. “Why?”

“Because he did,” he told her, matter of factly. “The way I see it, if he hadn’t told them you were brought on for Insight, if he hadn’t lied to set you up with HYDRA, they would have found a way to kill you a long time ago. They didn’t know you were his. If they did, it would have been easier for him to get you in. But then, up close, everyday, they would have seen you weren’t one of them. It's not hard to see, he worked your career while you rose in STRIKE, only giving them the parts of you they needed to let you get close. The rest he kept for himself."

Allison nodded, taking in what he said and taking a slow breath. "For all the things that happened to you," she reminded him, "for the things you know he did...why would you tell them those things? You don't owe him, or me, anything."

Barnes paused to think. He seemed to decide, with a small nod, simply saying, "Because you're my friend." He shook his head, with a shrug, before going on. "Maybe I can convince myself that I took enough of the handlers' lives to be satisfied...because you want his more than I do." He moved back from the table again. "I don't know that it'll help. Maybe it won't at all, but I can't think of anything else that I can do to thank you for coming back for me; for helping me these last few months."

"Well," she softly conceded, unfolding her hands and turning her attention to pick at her other thumb, "we were partners, weren't we? I guess we're even now. No hard feelings, whatever happens, huh?"

"I've never seen you like this before," Barnes realized.

"Like what?" Allison asked.

"Broken down," he frowned, a hint of concern back in his eyes. "You look tired, doll."

With a defeated smile, she admitted, "I am."

"Don't give up yet," Barnes gently urged. "Wait and see what happens."

Allison nodded to herself, considering her situation and looking around the room. She turned her gaze back to Barnes, smirking, "So, you finally talked to him, huh?"

"Yeah, well," he quietly snorted, with a small sweep and cock of his head, "someone kinda forced my hand."

They shared a soft laugh for a moment and it was quiet, before she asked, "Will they let me see him today?"

"I don't know," he answered, honestly. "They're talking to him right now."

Allison's head came up, feeling a pang of worry in her gut. "Who is?"

"Steve and, uh," Barnes stalled for the name. "The red head."

"Romanoff," she muttered. "Fuck."

"What's wrong with that?" he asked.

"They're not exactly his biggest fans, right now," Allison grumbled, suddenly impatient and aggravated to be away from Brock.

"They're just talking," he said. "Asking questions."

"Yeah," she scoffed. "I know how Romanoff asks questions." Allison assessed the room, muttering, "I gotta get out of here."

Barnes put up a hand, pointing a warning finger at her. "Don't try anything stupid, Kate."

She stopped, the breath falling out of her in a huff, as she balled her fists on the table. She would take the risk to maybe dislocate a joint to slip the shackles, but the room was locked from the outside and the guards in the room would be on her the moment she tried. Even if they weren't there, she wasn't a match for a super soldier, unarmed. Allison had to admit to herself, she was stuck where she was. Barnes was watching her, like he read her mind.

"It's just a talk," Barnes reiterated.

"If they do anything..."Allison warned.

"It's Steve," he tried reassuring her.

"That's what worries me," she said. "You haven't seen his dark side."


	55. Chapter 55

Allison knew it was too much to hope for, to be able to see Brock again. Especially if he was otherwise occupied with the Captain and Agent Romanoff questioning him. But it didn't make returning to her cell any more comforting. Her body ached and her wounds stung, and her mind was exhausted. It wasn't that telling the truth was so trying, so much as not being believed and constantly accused wore her patience down.

Allison checked her watch and sighed. 7:23. It was about ten minutes later that dinner was served. Allison took the tray with a nod of appreciation to the guard. She immediately swallowed down the pills in the miniature plastic cup set next to her battle of water, taking her tray back to her bed to sit down. She twisted open her bottle of water and gave a dash of pepper to her food; some kind of roast with potatoes and steamed greens.

The silence was distracting. The peace of the floor was somehow actually a bit unsettling now. She knew what to expect before; the heavy boots and hands of her previous captors kept time for her, telling her when to be up and ready, when the sunlight or a clock couldn't. The sounds of pain or cries of fear told her the kind of mood her captors were in that day. But, alone in her cell, straining to hear anything, Allison knew nothing. She hadn't even seen another prisoner. She didn't know where Mick or the others were, or even how they had faired in their escape with her. Allison didn't want to ask. For the doubt and hostility she had been shown, she didn't want to make the situation any harder for the defectors by reminding the twins, or anyone else, about any relationships that may or may not exist between them and her.

Try as she might, Allison had no appetite. She pushed more of her food around than she ate. Putting the rest of her meal aside, she stood and began a slow, bored pacing up and down the length of her cell. She wasn't sure how long she walked, but some time had passed before she stopped at the end of the cell in front of the small window in her door. Craning to peer down the hall, Allison saw the guards on duty gathered around their station, chatting and laughing amongst themselves.

"Maybe if you ask nice, they'll tell you what's so funny." Allison slowly closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "I bet the punchline is something about a washed up STRIKE operator waiting for the stockade on the Raft."

"Go away," she said, firmly.

"Smells good," he noted. "You really should eat; keep up your strength." Allison turned on her heel, leveling her gaze at Jack. "Doesn't look like you'll be getting out of here anytime soon, Princess."

"Don't call me that," she scowled.

"Why not?" He could only frown for a moment before the side of his mouth curled up in a smirk. "You used to like it."

"Shut up," Allison growled.

"Just a little somethin' between you and me," Jack smiled. "Never heard you complain about anyone calling you that before."

"Nobody else did," she flatly pointed out.

"That's right," he nodded, smugly. Allison looked back out the window, for anywhere else to look but at him. "You're just going to ignore me now?"

"That's the plan," Allison coolly agreed.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you," he told her.

Allison delivered on her promise. Keeping her attention on the casual activity outside her window, she didn't even watch him in her periphery.

"You think you can be the tough bitch with me?" Jack chuckled. "You can't ignore me forever. All alone in here; no friends, no visitors. I'm the only one here."

"You're not here," she shook her head, closing her eyes.

"I'm here."

Thrust against the door, Jack spun her around, pinning her back to the metal with his forearm across her shoulders and his right hand fisting the hair on top of her head. He snapped her head back into the window of the door, and Allison heard the creak of the fresh cracks in the glass, stressing against the pressure on her forehead to hold her head back and make her look him in the eye.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you," Jack angrily demanded, his face a breath from hers. "Look at me!"

Allison unclenched her eyes. Her heart racing in her chest and breath swallowed down, her eyes wandered over the ceiling above her. She blinked away the dampness in her eyes and sat up. The light above came up gently, slowly lighting up the room at her movement. Allison inhaled, deeply, taking a look around the room.

Her empty tray from dinner was balanced on the corner of the sink where she had left it. By her watch, it was 1:14 in the morning. She was still in her cell in Stark Tower. The window in the door was still in one smooth piece and she was still alone.

July 2015

The light in the room came on, a silent reminder that it was 7a.m. and Allison had already been awake for over five hours. Fifteen minutes later, Allison stood and dressed. She was smoothing the front of her shirt behind her belt, when the guard knocked on her cell door. Allison was escorted to the showers and left under the watch of the armed female agents. Her wounds were examined and redressed by a nurse before she was taken back to her cell for her morning meal.

Following her new morning routine, she took her medication and ate her breakfast, returned her finished tray, and was handcuffed to be moved. She was curious, when the security detail turned the other direction out of the elevator. Allison moved with her escorts down the hall, stopping when told. An agent opened a door beside her and she followed him into a conference room. He gestured for her to go to the center of the room and, when she stood by the chair at the head of the table, the agent unclipped a handcuff key from the pocket on his sleeve and moved Allison's cuffs behind her to her front.

"Have a seat," the agent told her and Allison noticed the other men fanning out around the room.

Allison did as she was told. The leather cushioned chair was a heavenly comfort for her aching body. She took advantage of the quiet in the room to relax into the back of the seat, before whatever was coming next happened. It was several silent minutes before she turned her head, her attention drawn to the sound of the door handle turning. 

Her breath hitched, seeing Eric open the door and take a surveying look over the room. Mickelson came into the room, followed by the remaining men who had escaped HYDRA with her. Allison tensed, wanting to rise from her chair and meet her friend, but knowing there would be consequences for making any unauthorized movements. The last man in shut the door and they all looked over the armed men at their posts and Allison seated still, a little wary.

"You okay, Al?" Mick asked, giving her a concerned once over. 

Allison swallowed and nodded. "I'm okay. You?"

"Fine," he smiled. Eric gestured to the others. "A little worse for wear, but still here."

She saw Nealon. His arm was in a sling, but he gave her a grin and shrug. Allison smiled, with a quiet snort. Her grin left her, quickly, remembering one of them wasn't there.

"They're moving us," Eric said. "Taking us upstate, to the compound."

"Why?" Allison worried.

"Julie and the girls- Everybody's families are there now. We're going home. Can you believe that?" He snorted, quietly, with a sweep of his head. "There's still some details to be hashed out, but we'll be home soon enough."

Allison nodded, with a small smile. "Good."

"We're all being relocated," Eric went on. "New lives, new places." He hesitated a moment, before saying, "They're letting us say goodbye. ...So, this is it, Al."

It felt like a punch in the gut. Allison blinked, needing a moment to process what was happening. This was goodbye. The rules of relocation would never let them see each other or speak again. In an instant, everything came back to her; their earlier days together as candidates for Echo Team, visiting him and his wife in the hospital for the births of their little girls, sleeping back to back in the mud of a Costa Rican jungle- everything, from fire fights to poker nights. In a matter of minutes, years of friendship would end forever.

"Good," Allison managed to get out, swallowing the lump in her throat. "That's good." She nodded. "Rogers honored the deal."

Eric stared at the cuffs on her wrists in her lap. "What about you?"

She did her best to smile and shrugged. "Still waiting to see."

He shook his head. "It's not right, Al," Mick complained.

"It is what it is," she accepted. "It's okay."

"It's not right," Nealon seconded, shaking his head.

"Hey," she smiled, "you know what? I'm good. There's just a lot of things to sort out. That's all. Patience is a virtue, right?"

"Right," Mick agreed, not sounding entirely convinced.

"We wanted to thank you," a man she didn't know said. She turned her attention to the man speaking on Eric's left. "If you hadn't done the work you did, against HYDRA, and come for Sgt. Barnes, we wouldn't have had this chance."

"You and Commander Rumlow gave us our lives back, ma'am," the man beside him agreed.

"They won't let us see him," Eric explained. "You'll tell him for us, if you see him, won't you, Al?"

Nodding, Allison solemnly promised, "I will."

The devil may care Mick she knew was back, when he looked confidently around the room and arrogantly announced, "You all can try and fuck me up if you want, but I'm gonna hug her."

The senior agent smirked and nodded once. Allison shook her head, putting her hands in Eric's, when he reached out to pull her to her feet. He dipped his head under her bound arms and held her tight.

"God damnit," Mickelson griped. "It shouldn't be like this. We got out. We're supposed to be splitting that Jameson. No one left behind."

"It's okay," she nodded on his shoulder. "You just have a different assignment now."

"I'm sorry, Al," he told her, softly. 

She nodded again, reaching her arms over his head to pull away. "No apologies," she smiled, weakly. "Just give my love to Jules and the girls, okay?" She looked over Eric and the others. "I can't thank you all for what you did for me. Not in these few minutes, anyway." There were nods of understanding all around. "I don't take the fact that I'm standing here lightly," Allison told them. "I know what you all risked to help me...and what Harris gave. I'm sorry he's not here. I'm sorry I can't make that up to you. But I'm going to do my best not to waste this opportunity, no matter what happens. I hope you do the same."

There was a chorus of confident "Yes, ma'am"s and Mickelson smiled at her, proudly. Nealon stepped forward, offering the hand of his uninjured arm to Allison. She shook it, with a humble smile. 

"Mark Nealon, ma'am," he smiled. "CWO, pilot- fixed wing and rotary, SHIELD Airborne."

Allison smiled back, with a small nod, introducing herself to them, finally, saying, "Allison Addams. 1st Lieutenant, STRIKE, Echo Team."

Each of the other strangers took their turn, shaking her cuffed hands and identifying themselves.

"Kevin Crutcher- SHIELD Technical Intelligence Officer. My friends call me KC."

"Scott Gamble- CWO, pilot- fixed wing and rotary, SHIELD Airborne Division."

"John Sumner- Lieutenant, defense artillery officer, SHIELD Special Forces."

Allison smiled at hearing them identify themselves with their SHIELD assignments. It meant something to her, hearing them choose SHIELD over HYDRA; knowing that Brock had been right about them.

"It's an honor to meet you, gentlemen," she assured them.

The door opened again and everyone looked when a suited agent leaned inside to say, "We're ready to go."

Allison drew in a slow, deep breath, trying to steel herself again.

Eric stepped up, hugging her one last time and telling her, "Take care of yourself, Al. You're better than what they say you are. You _know_ that. Don't let them break you."

"Who, me?" she smirked, as her only defense against the ache in her chest. "Psh. Never."

Mick nodded, moving back. He smiled at her wink. Without a cue, Eric and the other free men stiffened their posture, saluting Allison for a long moment. With her hands restrained, all she could do was nod her humbled appreciation. 


	56. Chapter 56

July 2015

When the door shut behind Mickelson and the other defecting agents, Allison stared. She exhaled slowly, understanding how small her list of allies had just become. From his position in the corner of the room, the senior agent spoke up, telling her to sit again. Allison did as she was told and turned to face into the table, her shoulders rolled forward and her hands laid out, palms cooling on the polished wood ahead of her. Mick told her not to let them break her, but she didn't have much left to hold on to.

A few minutes later, Agent Mowry entered the conference room. He walked to the table, with a pair of file folders in his hand, and took a seat. He was mindful to keep a chair between him and Allison.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," she sighed, plainly annoyed. "Aren't we done yet?"

He didn't reply or give any indication he even heard her. Allison watched, as Mowry thumbed open the first folder and took out a few printed pages to lay on top of it. He set the other folder aside and pulled a pen from the pocket on the inside of his jacket, adding it to the pile in front of him before pushing it toward Allison. She eyed him for a moment, before reaching out to drag the pages closer with the fingertips of her left hand.

"What's this?" she asked, spinning the pile on the table so the pages faced her and sweeping the pen aside.

"Your confession," the agent explained.

Allison lifted her eyes from the papers in her hands, asking for clarification. "My what?"

Agent Mowry leaned back in his chair, repeating, "Your confession."

Her eyes started scanning over the document in her hand. "What the hell for?"

"For starters, you've been in violation of SHIELD policies and regulations for years, Lt. Addams," he reminded her, his tone apparently less than enthused to be explaining himself. "But more importantly, you spent over half your career in service to HYDRA. We're confident we've compiled a complete list of murders and additional crimes you committed against other governments and foreign citizens, on both US and foreign soil. That document is your admission to all the charges leveled against you by SHIELD, the United States government, and several other countries."

"This is some kind of a joke, right?" Allison balked, tossing the papers across the corner of the table and back to Mowry. "I'm not signing this."

Mowry scowled, sitting up to gather the pages. "You don't really have a choice," he said, shuffling the papers into a squared pile again. "Signing this is the only thing keeping you on US soil."

Leveling her gaze at him, she asked, "What does that mean?"

"It means," the agent began, "that without your confession, you'll be charged, convicted, and sentenced on each and every count against you, in every sovereign court in every country that you committed crimes in." Mowry pulled the second folder back in front of him and opened the cover to read. "You're facing murder, kidnapping, assault, trespass, breaking and entering, and unlawful arrest charges inclu-"

"This is bullshit," Allison complained.

With an annoyed cock of an eyebrow for the interruption, Mowry continued, "Multiple acts of terrorism and espionage, as well as several violations of the Geneva Convention and the UN Convention Against Torture, claimed with both territorial and personal jurisdiction, during your time under HYDRA's command." He closed the folder. "And that's just in the Americas." With a point of his finger back at his file and a sarcastic raise of his brow, he condescendingly offered, "You want me to read you the rest?"

"I'm not signing a confession for something I didn't do," Allison asserted, pulling her hands back from the table to rest in her lap, hiding the fists she made. "I've told you, I never worked for HYDRA. I was a SHIELD agent."

"You were an assassin," he corrected, the rise and fall of his tone emphasizing each point he made, "working at the discretion of HYDRA, under the direct command of senior HYDRA officers, killing at will and without question."

"I told you, I didn't know!" Allison argued, slamming a fist into the table top and indifferent to the hardening posture in response to her outburst of the armed men keeping watch in front of her and the pair that came to stand near the back of her chair. "Put me back on the machines, and I'll tell you again. I _didn't know_."

"You think we put any stock in the results of a lie detector with a person like you?" Mowry scoffed. "With your training and background?" Allison glared at him, as he challenged, "You think anyone would? ...You're finished Lieutenant. Sign this and you just might die of old age in the safety of the Raft. Sign this," he told her, dropping the papers in front of her again, "or it won't be a question of how many years you'll be sentenced to. It'll be, who gets to hang you first."

Allison stared at the typed confession in front of her. An incredulous huff left her, at reading the first line.

[I, Lt. Allison R. Addams, serial #78169736, do freely and of my own accord, make the following voluntary statement regarding my involvement in, and full responsibility for...]

"No," Allison shook her head, pushing the papers away. "This is not of my own accord and I'm not responsible for these accusations. So, you can take this confession and shove it up your ass. I'm not signing it."

Allison's ears pricked, at the clicks of the safeties being thumbed off the weapons of the armed agents behind her. Mowry stood, pushing the documents back to Allison and slapping the pen down on top of the pages, telling her, "No one ever asked. You were told, sign it."

With her expression hard and her eyes set on Mowry, Allison took a deep breath. She picked up the pen, looking at it and feeling the weight of the silver colored fountain pen in her hand. She tilted the papers on the table toward her, her gaze panning from Agent Mowry to the agents ahead of her in the room.

Allison shot forward, grabbing a fistful of Mowry's shirt and tie under his collar and yanking him over the table to her. She pressed the metal point of the pen against his jugular, as he clamped his hands over her wrists to try and hold her back. The men behind her grabbed at her arms.

"I never worked for HYDRA, you piece of shit," Allison seethed, her face barely an inch from Mowry's. "I'm not signing anything!"

One guard hooked an arm around Allison's neck and the other threw a fist into her gut. The agent at her neck tightened his choke, jerking her back to pull her down into her chair again, as his partner wrenched Allison's hands away from Mowry. He twisted the pen from her grasp and threw it aside on the table. The uniformed men held her down and Agent Mowry straightened his collar and tie.

"Get her out of here," he barked, turning to gather up the papers strewn about.

The arm around her neck yanked Allison to her feet. The agent beside her unlocked the cuff from one wrist and immediately cranked her arm behind her back, taking control of Allison from his partner and forcing her, with a balance upsetting sweep of her leg, down over the table, pinning her there with his forearm pressed across the back of her shoulders. With nothing but contempt in her eyes, Allison stared up at Mowry, as the first agent pulled Allison's free arm back and she was secured in the handcuffs again. The guards took a firm hold of her by the arms, pulling her upright and moving out of the room. The other uniformed agents fell into their positions around her.

She didn't speak, on her way back to her cell, but the further she got from Mowry and the confession they wanted her to sign, the slower her pulse became. Back on the detention floor, Allison stood still, waiting with her escort detail for the door to her cell to be unlocked. The men at the front of the formation stepped aside, as the door opened. Allison was ordered forward and she lifted her eyes to see where she was going. She had barely taken a step when she stopped, her movement and breath immediately halted by the sight of Jack leaned back against the wall of her cell in front of her, in spite of the hands on her arm and back pushing her forward.

Jack disappeared from her view, blocked by the senior agent from her detail moving to stand in front of her. Standing toe to toe with Allison, the inches he had over her made him look down his nose at her, as he firmly said, "Lt. Addams, my respect for your service to SHIELD and your current situation notwithstanding, there is no room for disobedience on my floor. Is that clear?"

Allison shut her eyes, tightly, and took a breath. She opened them again to catch a glimpse of her empty cell behind the agent in front of her. She nodded once.

"You will enter your cell and follow the orders of these men, without argument or delay, today and until such time as we are relieved of your presence here," he told her. "Is that understod?"

"Yes, sir," she nodded again, finding a little comfort in the strength and cadence of his order.

The senior agent sidestepped, opening the path to Allison's cell to her again. She inhaled deeply and stepped inside the empty room. The door was shut and she presented her wrists to the hatch to have her cuffs removed, as directed. Allison turned away from the door and pressed her hand to her side. Lifting her palm away, as she sat down on the corner of her bed, she let out an uncomfortable sigh. She studied the blood on her palm, for a long moment, and shook her head.

"Son of a bitch," Allison softly complained. There was a small wince in her face, as she put the pressure back on her side and eased down to lay on her bed. "So much for the clean shirt," she muttered, with a sigh.

"You'll be alright, Princess," Jack assured her. "You did good."

Dec 2011

"Remind me why I said we'd do this?"

"Because it's Christmas, you grumpy bastard," she told him. "There's rules."

"I don't think I've seen anything legally binding that says there has to be a Christmas tree in my house," Brock halfheartedly complained, giving the tree in the stand a subtle push. "How's that?"

Allison nodded, with an approving and proud smile. "That's it. Right there."

Brock stepped away, warily looking the tree up and down, with his hands set into his hips. "S'pose now you want it decorated," he reasoned.

"Obviously," she agreed. "But first, I need to get the stuff out of my car and then some coffee, or something, to warm my ass up."

It didn't take too long to pick out a tree from the lot, but the previous day's snow storm left a few inches on the ground and the icy wind stung. While she was still bundled up, Allison went back outside to grab the shopping bags with the boxes of lights and ornaments for the tree from her car; supplies the bachelor life had never made Brock buy and that the more available floor space of his townhouse, over her apartment's, meant she didn't need at her place this year. Back inside, she stomped the snow off her boots and handed off the bags to Brock.

Inclining his head down the hall, he told her, "There's a sweatshirt over the back of one of the chairs in the dining room. I just started some coffee."

"Perfect," Allison smiled, shrugging off her coat to hang in the foyer closet, while Brock took the bags to the living room.

She found the extra shirt where he'd said it would be and pulled it overhead. Brock was just taking down a pair of mugs from the cupboard when she joined him in the kitchen. Allison flattened out the hood of the shirt and let the length of the sleeves fall down her hands, curling the extra material in her fists to help warm her fingers. She smoothed a thumb over the wash-worn STRIKE Division insignia on the left chest and hummed her approval of the softness of the inside of the sweatshirt.

Rumlow cocked up an eyebrow, looking at her over his shoulder. "Don't get used to that," he cautioned. "You better not be one of those girls that steals sweatshirts and shit."

"I have to," she mischievously smiled. "There's rules."

"That's bullshit," he told her, "and you know it."

"I don't make the rules," she innocently argued, with a helpless shrug.

Brock huffed and shook his head, noting, "You're lucky it looks good on you."

"Damn right it does," Allison quietly agreed, looking herself over in the black hoodie and breathing in the scent of him on the collar.

"I've had that longer than you've been with the agency," Rumlow said, checking the progress of the coffee. "I'm not losing it now."

"You already did," she whispered to his ear.

Brock turned his chin, to see her behind his shoulder. "Woman," he warned, holding up a finger, "I will let you keep a toothbrush and some shit here for work. I will even let you put a fuckin' Christmas tree in the living room. But you are not, I repeat, _not_ leaving with that shirt."

"We'll see about that," Allison smirked.

"Don't test me on this, Addy," Brock swept his head.

"Oh. Okay," she softly and patronizingly agreed, with a pouty frown to mock the seriousness of what he was saying. 

"I swear to god," he promised, taking up the carafe to pour their coffee.

Feeling herself finally warming again, and feeling decidedly playful, Allison crossed her arms over herself and tugged up the bottom of his hoodie, and her shirt beneath it, to show off her toned belly. "You want me to take it off?" she offered, with a wicked curl in the side of her mouth.

Brock did a double take over his shoulder and stopped pouring, setting the coffee pot back on the burner. "Immediately," he ordered, turning to face her and slide his hands over her hips to pull her close.

July 2015

Allison lifted her head, looking down the length of her cell at the sound of the door unlocking. When Dr. Cho appeared in the doorway, she sat up and put her feet on the floor. An armed agent stepped into the room behind the doctor and stationed himself in the corner. A second guard kept watch from the open doorway. 

"Ms. Addams," Cho began, with a kind smile, "I understand there was a bit of an altercation this morning."

Allison halfheartedly shrugged. "Something like that."

"I'm here to see if you're alright," the doctor said, looking her over. Cho pointed to Allison's hands resting in her lap. "I take it we might need a couple replacement stitches."

Turning her palms up to see the dried blood on her left hand from where she put pressure on her side, Allison cocked her head to the side. "Yeah," she quietly agreed. "Sorry, doc."

"It's alright," Cho assured her, gesturing to the agent at the door. "I need Ms. Addams transferred to the Infirmary, please."

"Yes, ma'am," the guard nodded. He asked Cho to step out of the room and gave instructions for Allison to stand and be cuffed.

Allison didn't give them any problems this time. Back in the Infirmary and uncuffed, while the doctor and her nurse gloved up, Allison pulled her shirt off. She glanced down at the blood stained gauze covering along her side. It was mostly dry, but it was evident she had definitely pulled a stitch or staple or two. She raised her arm and the nurse carefully removed the dressing from her wound.

Cho began cleaning the torn skin on Allison's side, with a small shake of her head. "I'll need to add a couple stitches to close this again," she noted. "I hope whatever happened, it was worth the trouble."

"It was momentarily satisfying, but now I'm here," Allison pointed out, "so, apparently not."

There was a small smirk in the corner of Cho's mouth, as she nodded. "I see." Her nurse handed her the needle he had prepared for her, as Cho added, "I would recommend refraining from seeking anymore satisfying moments for a few days, to let these wounds heal."

"Yes, ma'am," Allison agreed.

Allison was still, only moving when and how she was told by the medical staff. She received new dressings on the wounds of her upper body, after Cho had inspected them. There was some minor bleeding with her shoulder and upper arm, no doubt also from the scuffle, but Cho assured her the stitches and staples were still intact. Allison was allowed to dress again and the guards straightened up, preparing to move Allison again.

"Perhaps you'll consider a new shirt, Ms. Addams?" the doctor suggested. With a small wave of her hand, she noted, "This one seems to be very near the end of its life."

Allison looked down at the torn fabric from the bullet along her side, knowing that the shirt was due for another sink washing, after she had bled into it. "It's the only one I've got," she shrugged. "The rest of my gear's been confiscated and I'm not interested in the prison blues they gave me. I'm not complaining."

Cho gave her a sympathetic frown. "I understand," she nodded. The doctor turned and motioned for the agents to come closer. "We're all finished here," she noted and looked to Allison. "Ms. Addams, I would hope that any new or worsened injuries will be immediately reported, in the future."

"Yes, ma'am," Allison nodded, as the handcuffs were ratcheted on behind her again.


	57. Chapter 57

July 2015

Stepping out into the hallway, Allison threw a glance behind her toward the direction of Rumlow's recovery room. Her detail moved her away and Allison quietly sighed at the disappointment of being so close, but unable to see Brock. After leaving the Infirmary, Allison recognized the path they were on. She had begun to memorize the halls and floors and knew immediately when she was being taken back to the conference room. Her head tipped tiredly to the side, as she was sent into the room ahead of her detail and ordered back to the chair at the head of the table. 

"Seriously, you guys?" Allison complained, with an annoyed look to the senior agent. "Again?"

"Move to the head of the table," the agent reiterated, inclining his head toward the chair at the end.

Allison walked over to the chair, stopping when told. A guard took hold of Allison to open one cuff and move her restraints in front of her. She was still while the handcuffs were locked again, but quirked an eyebrow up.

"Sure you guys wanna do that?" she quipped.

The agent in charge stepped up to stand directly in front of her. "I don't know. Are you going to try anymore of your bullshit?"

"Are _you_?" she casually wondered.

"Not me personally," he smirked. He cocked his head toward the chair. "Unless you don't park your ass in that chair."

Allison sized him up, interested in reading the nametape on his uniform for the first time since his first appearance on the day watch of her imprisonment. "I like you Mr. Galloway," she grinned, taking her seat.

" _Sgt_. Galloway," he corrected, as he turned to go to his position in the corner of the room and the rest of his men fanned out. Allison swiveled in her chair to face the table and understood why Galloway's final word was "Playback".

On the wall ahead of her were several monitors of varying size. This time, one of them was on. The largest screen, in the center of the display, was tuned into the tower's security system, specifically, to the camera giving the long view of Rumlow's room.

Allison's eyes were instantly fixed on the screen. She set her hands on the table, her fingers laced together tightly. From speakers somewhere in the room, she could hear the conversation in the recovery room. Her focus went to Brock, sitting up in the armchair in his room. A sling had been added to his left arm, Allison supposed to help rest his wounded shoulder while he was out of bed. He looked and sounded tired, but otherwise was safe, and she let out a small breath in relief. She wasn't sure how she came to be in the conference room, privy to the interview, or maybe interrogation, but she wasn't going to be distracted by asking. She leaned into the table, eagerly paying attention.

"That was the deal," Rogers told Brock, "if the information they provide is as valuable as you say and checks out. I'm not letting them walk and giving them new lives for scraps and outdated intel."

"You honor your part of the bargain," Rumlow nodded, "and they'll keep honoring theirs. You don't know what these guys went through to get here. You don't get to judge them until you've seen where they've been. They risked their lives to get back to their families and deliver you Addams. They deserve a little god damn respect."

"You don't have a lot of room to ask for sympathy," Natasha pointed out. "You and STRIKE-"

"Yeah?" Brock arrogantly interrupted, cocking his head to look over at her. "Well, they ain't all STRIKE, are they? And they didn't all have much of a choice about working for HYDRA, did they?" He eyed her up and down. "What would you do for your family, Agent Romanoff? Is there a line you wouldn't cross to keep them safe? You keep your priorities straight. Pay attention to what they're doing now, because that immunity means they get to start over, not get crucified by you, of all people."

A smile ghosted briefly across Allison's lips, admiring his loyalty to his men and, considering what he was facing down the road, that he hadn't lost his command presence or confidence.

"You're not in a position to give orders anymore," the Captain reminded him.

"It's not orders," Rumlow corrected him. "It's a reminder."

"What about Allison Addams?" the Captain changed directions. "Who's been giving her orders?"

Rumlow smirked. "Nobody."

"She worked for you on STRIKE for over four years," Rogers noted. "Her name appears multiple times on the Insight records. There's surveillance recovered from the Triskelion that has her onboard the ships...with you."

"Smoke and mirrors," he shook his head, with a quiet chuckle underneath. "She didn't have anything more to do with Insight or HYDRA than you did, Boy Scout. They fooled you all."

"She's directly linked to several political assassinations and other killings and arrests, for HYDRA's agendas, in multiple reports sent to HYDRA Command," Natasha went on.

"And how many are you in, over the years? Huh, Widow?" Brock fired back, nodding when he saw his comment stifled her argument. "You want to throw around video? I've got footage from the collapse, before HYDRA was able to hijack the server again and destroyed the archive for that day. Footage that shows Addams taking out true believers; working her way, through them, to the Insight Control Room." 

There was a subtle raise of the Captain's chin and Rumlow nodded, "Yeah, I know about the server breaches and the data corruption, when SHIELD was scrambling to recover. I'm the only one here who knows it all." He pointed at Rogers, telling him, "You check the recovery reports. You find Sgt. Haney dead, with multiple stab wounds, in an elevator car in Tower B and I'll show you video of Addams bleeding him out. Lt. Addams is a good soldier. She was following orders, but, just like _you_ , she thought they all came from SHIELD. You wanna lock her up, make sure you save room for yourselves."

"He is ten _a_ cious when it comes to protecting his people. But then, I could say the same about you."

The voice immediately broke Allison's concentration from the screen. Her head snapped over to the doorway, in disbelief of the sound. Allison's jaw slowly gaped, dumbfounded at the sight of a ghost.

"Yeah," Fury quietly snorted, with a smirk, "I get that reaction a lot." He looked up at the scene on the monitor, before calling out, "Mute."

The room was silent, save for the sound of Fury's footsteps across the floor. Recovered from the shock, Allison instinctively stood, muscle memory and decorum bringing her to a sharp attention. That is, until the cuffs on her hands prevented her from pulling them back to her sides.

"Director Fury, Sir," Allison managed.

He waved a dismissive hand, grimacing at the name. "At ease, Addams," he told her. "I'm not the Director anymore. I'm dead, remember?" Pulling out a chair for himself, he motioned for Allison to sit again. "Seems like there's been a lot of resurrections around here," he mused, glancing over to the screen on the wall. "You, me, Rumlow, Barnes. Looks like somebody upstairs likes us."

"Not one for believing in deities," Allison admitted, a bit reluctantly.

"No surprise there," Fury shrugged. "See what we see, do what we do, and it's hard to think that we're in anyone's hands but our own."

"Can I ask, sir-"

"How?" he finished for her, his brow rising at the topic. "I had a good doctor." Allison shook her head, sharing a faint grin with him. "The real question is, Lieutenant, how are _you_ still alive?"

Allison paused for a deep breath, unsure of how exactly to answer. "Dumb fucking luck," she supposed.

Fury nodded, with an amused smirk. "Would you like me to tell you?" Allison nodded and Fury tipped his thumb toward the monitor, watching the screen for a moment, before steepling his fingers together and laying his hands on the table. "You'd be dead by now, if it weren't for him."

"Sir?" Allison questioned, not quite following.

"Commander Rumlow," he began, with a no look incline of his head toward the surveillance feed, "saved your life. November 2014, there was an event. Somewhere along the line, a man named Scott Lucas, one of the Technical Engineers for Insight, screwed up. Something he did made HYDRA suspicious of him. They took this man and they tortured him. He told them, he and others like him weren't onboard with HYDRA's plans for Insight anymore. He talked about plans to blow the whistle and capture or assassinate certain high value targets in the HYDRA command within SHIELD.

"I admire him," Fury admitted, with a small nod. "Just an engineer, with no SERE or counter-interrogation training. He held on for as long as he could, but in the end, before they killed him, he gave them a list of names of HYDRA sympathizers who had turned their loyalty back to SHIELD." Fury turned again, pointing to Rumlow on the monitor. "They took _him_ , next. They had him for almost two weeks," he noted, sounding impressed. "But he didn't crack. That tricky son of a bitch had them thinking he was named in retaliation. He didn't give them any names, denied everything, and swore loyalty to HYDRA, vowing to root out any decenters.

"When they let him go," Fury went on, "Rumlow started tampering with records. All of a sudden, paperwork was lost and digital recordings were damaged, files corrupted." The former director sat up a little straighter to explain, "Now, HYDRA figured it all went back to the list of names they already had; that the traitors were trying to cover their tracks and hide anyone else they didn't know about yet.

"When they didn't get anymore names, they took him again," the Director continued. "Insight was ahead of schedule, and HYDRA was getting anxious. There were too many names on Lucas' list for their liking and Rumlow's seeming lack of effort was disconcerting. He took a beating, saying there were no more names to add to the list. Said, he couldn't find anymore; that Lucas had given them everything there was to find; that Lucas exaggerated, maybe even lied to try and save his own skin." With another glance to Brock and a disappointed shake of his head, he continued, "Rumlow tried his damnedest, but he couldn't hide them all. All of a sudden _accidents_ were happening, people committing suicides, and mishaps in the field, to almost every one of those names they had beat out of Lucas."

"Almost?" she pressed.

"Those five men who made it out with you," he nodded, "they're the end of the list; the ones that Rumlow was able to hide again."

Allison looked thoughtfully at the monitor. "I know he protected me, but how did he save me? Was I on a list?"

"You were," Fury casually noted. "The list of people HYDRA didn't have control of; the ones that would be a problem later." He paused, adding, "...until he started leaving breadcrumbs, working you into the system in 2011, that is. Now, why do you suppose he did that?" The visible sigh that left Allison, as she watched Rumlow on the screen, was his answer. "Because you two were violating the fraternization policy," Fury reminded her, with a sly smirk.

"You going to write me up?" she wondered, turning her attention back to the Director.

Fury chuckled. "Don't suppose that's in my scope of authority anymore, Lieutenant."

"What happens now, Sir?"

"Now," he said, leaning back in his seat, "you get back to work."

"What?" Allison doubted.

"It'll take some doing," he allowed, "bringing you back from the dead and all, but you were one of the best agents SHIELD ever had. The world needs people like you, Lt. Addams. Brave people; unstoppable people to keep her safe."

"Sir," she started, then paused, shaking her head. "I'm not an agent anymore. The things I did for HYDRA-"

"I'm not interested in what you _did_ for HYDRA," Fury interrupted. "You're no more guilty of that shit than Barnes is. What I am interested in, is what you did to HYDRA _after_ you found out what was going on."

Allison began to protest, saying, "Sir, what I did after SHIELD fell was for personal gain. I wasn't doing the work for my country or in the name of SHIELD. I was doing it-"

"For your family," he nodded. "I know. I heard you talking to Barnes earlier." Fury didn't look when he pointed away toward the monitor again. "And I've heard Rumlow say damn near the same thing to Cap. ...Before you went all scorched Earth looking for your boyfriend, you used to do it for me and your team. I want to give you a new team to do it for; give you a chance for a new family, here, with the Avengers."

Trying to absorb what he was saying, Allison turned back to the screen, studying Rogers and Romanoff as they loomed over Brock. Fury waited patiently, watching her watch them. She couldn't believe the offer. Allison had a chance to go back to her old life. It would be different, to say the least, but her talents wouldn't be wasted and, if she was lucky, maybe she could make up for some of the wrong she'd done for HYDRA.

"This morning," she wondered. "The confession Mowry said I had to sign..." Fury nodded once. "Was that a test?"

"It was," he unapologetically admitted. "One you passed, with flying colors."

Allison set her jaw, nodding tightly for having been tricked. "And if I'd signed it?"

"You never would have," the Director assured her.

"If you knew I wouldn't-"

"To prove to others what I already knew about you," he answered her unfinished question.

"And if I'd killed Mowry?" she pressed. "What would that have proved?"

"Pissed off as you may be," Fury conceded, with a knowing smirk and bob of his head, " _you_ don't kill innocent people, Lieutenant. You save them."

Hesitating for a moment, she watched the monitor and asked, "What about him?"

"Rumlow?" Fury checked, turning to see the screen when she nodded. "He does present a problem, doesn't he?" He hummed his own reply. "I haven't decided yet," he admitted. "Rumlow was an exceptional commander. Expertise and experience like his is hard to come by. On the other hand, he was a willing participant for some time. He raises a lot of questions; makes me wonder if I can trust him."

"But, somehow, you think you can trust me?" Allison still doubted.

"I know I can," he assured her. "You had plenty of chances to run, Lieutenant; plenty of chances to start over and leave the hard work to someone else. But you didn't. You pushed on, alone and, in spite of some pretty incredible odds against you...you're still here."

"Capt. Rogers doesn't trust me anymore," she told him, gesturing to the wall ahead of her. "Romanoff is hard to read. I haven't seen enough of Barton to gauge him for sure and Wilson trusts me even less than Rogers. They're too close knit. They'd never let me in. It won't work."

"I say it can," Fury confidently insisted. "And Cap will see it, too. He just needs a little perspective."

"With all due respect, Sir, this isn't like walking into Rumlow's office and recommending me for a job," Allison pointed out.

"I recommended you for the job, because you were the right person for it," he told her. "The fact that you and I are sitting here and having this conversation says I was right. Now," he continued, leaning into the table edge again and looking her in the eye, "I may not be in charge anymore, but let's just say, I have an incredible amount of influence. The decision has been made. There's a spot on the team, if you want it." He broke his gaze off hers, looking to the monitor again. "It's been a long morning for you, Lieutenant. There've been a lot of questions the last couple days. Take a day or two to think about how you want to answer this one," he offered, standing up. "I'll be around."

As Fury moved to leave, Allison spoke up. "Thank you, Sir," she said, hastily and humbled, before he reached the door. "Thank you, for believing in me."

"Thank you, Lt. Addams," he nodded once, "for proving me right."


	58. Chapter 58

July 2015

After her talk with Fury, Allison was escorted back to her cell. Inside and loose of her restraints, Allison stepped carefully over to the side of her bed, a little suspicious of what was waiting for her. She stared down at a neat stack of items from one of her bags left in the SUV Barnes escaped with. Folded in a pile was a fresh pair of BDU pants, a black t-shirt, and her sweatshirt. She looked over her shoulder at the door, wondering who had brought or sent the items in for her, but there was no one to ask. Her fingers drifted over the wash-worn STRIKE insignia on the chest of the sweatshirt, lost in her thoughts for a moment. She had a lot to consider. She might as well be comfortable, she considered and Allison changed into her own clothes.

It was off schedule, but her lunch was served, with a fresh round of pain medication. Alone in her cell, she mulled over Fury's offer, weighing the possibilities carefully against each other. Later, when she was taken from her cell, and returned to Brock's room in the Infirmary, she wondered if maybe it was Fury's doing. Was he trying to win her over by bribing her with what she wanted? First some of her belongings and then another visit with Brock. It seemed like such an obvious manipulation, but she didn't care. She'd take advantage of the opportunity.

Delivered to the room, her armed escort moved her handcuffs again and left her alone, shutting the door behind them. Ahead of her, Rumlow was back in bed, eyes shut and breathing softly. She waited to move until she heard the latch catch, walking softly to his bedside, hoping not to wake him. Allison perched herself on the edge of the chair near the bed, reaching her bound hands out to gently cover his hand on the mattress.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, when his hand turned up to hold hers. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"You didn't," he assured her, with a small shake of his head. Brock opened his eyes, turning his head on the pillow to see her. "Just resting." His eyes ticked down before coming back up to hers, as he commented, "Nice shirt."

Allison took a quick glance down at herself and shyly grinned with a soft snort. She shook it off and nodded to him, noting, "Been a long morning, huh?"

"Yeah," he sarcastically agreed, with a small snort that seemed to give him a little less discomfort than it had before.

"You okay?" she checked.

"A few more holes in me than there used to be," he quipped, with a tired smile, "but, yeah, I'm fine."

"That's not what I meant," she smiled. "I know Rogers and Romanoff were in here."

"How'd you know that?" he asked, with a discerning squint in his eye.

"They showed me part of it," she told him.

"They showed you?" he repeated, curiosity and distrust pulling a wrinkle down in his brow. "Are they interrogating you?"

"No," Allison quickly answered, shaking her head, knowing he worried they were trying to use him to compromise her emotionally. "Nothing like that."

Rumlow studied her for a moment, before he seemed to relax a bit. "Which part?"

"Where you tried to convince them I was innocent," she told him. "When you were talking about Mick and the others."

He nodded his understanding, reminding her, "You _are_ innocent."

"Not completely," she regretfully admitted, bowing her head and fixing her eyes on his hand in hers. "With Barnes, at first- I tried to kill him when he found where I'd been hiding. After I used the trigger on him, when he was my prison-"

"Hey," Brock sternly interrupted. "You did what you had to do. He was a threat, at the time. You were protecting yourself. What you did before that, for SHIELD, that wasn't your fault either. It was mine. I was giving orders. You trusted me and I betrayed that, every day."

"You weren't protecting yourself?" she twisted it around. "Weren't you playing the game?"

"I was," he conceded. "But the rules were different for me. I was on the other team."

"But you're on the right team, now," she suggested, turning a worried look up to him, "aren't you?"

It was quiet for a moment, while he took her in. He squeezed her hand in his. "I was on ours. Now?" he exhaled. "I don't get to choose a side anymore. I'm just waiting for judgment."

"If you had to choose," she led him on, "whose side would it be?"

A fond smile, and an expression that said he knew where she was trying to take him, came to his face. "I'm done with sides, kid," he decided. "It doesn't matter when you're in prison. It's over for me." His thumb swept over the back of her hand and her head turned down at his answer. "The only thing that matters is where you are. That's where I'd be, if any of it were up to me. Through fire and hell for you."

Allison looked up, feeling the heat coming to her eyes. She nodded, a weak smile flinching in her lips at him saying her words back to him. Through fire and hell. It was always a game. Trading one side for the other, for whichever one was the safer bet for the circumstances. But in the end, when it mattered, it was always for her and it was always for him.

"You should be distancing yourself from me," Brock told her.

"Maybe, but I don't want to." Allison shook her head. "We've already been apart for so long," she regretfully explained.

"I know, baby," he nodded, his expression and voice frowning. "But I don't know how to do any better by you," he admitted, his shoulders sagging as he swept his head. "All I can think to do to try and make up for it is to make sure you're safe; that you still have a chance. That's what was supposed to happen with Rogers." Brock shook his head. "And now...you're no better off than when you came back for Barnes."

"I came back for you, too," she reminded him. "You don't belong there. That's not who you are."

"But it was," Rumlow assured her. "Whatever you used think of me, it doesn't count for anything. Everything you know now is all that matters. And that's all they'll consider."

"But that's not all there is," Allison earnestly argued.

"It's all that matters to them," Brock shook his head. "And that's the way it should be. You think the gray area between you and me means anything to them?" He scoffed, with a misplaced smirk. "The big picture, the black and white; that's all they see. And when they're looking at that, they see me and they forget to look at you. That's the way it should be."

"You can't keep sacrificing yourself for me," she urged. "Maybe I'm not so innocent. My hands aren't clean. I've seen the records. I know who and what was on their agenda and what-"

"Addy, you have to see," he insisted, "you didn't do any of that. It's where I sent you. It's what _I_ told you to do. You have zero culpability in any of it." Rumlow considered her for a moment, realizing, "Jack was right. You were always too good for us. You were too good for me."

It was still in the room, for a long moment, and Allison hung her head. She swallowed hard, to tell him, "They're gone."

"Who?" Brock asked, the gentle tone in his voice seeming to have picked up on the sadness in hers.

"Mick," she told him, raising her chin again. "And the others. They're gone. They took them up to the compound to relocate them." Rumlow nodded, silent, as she went on. "They wanted to see you, but Mick said they weren't allowed. He asked me to tell you, thank you, for all of them."

He nodded again, taking his hand back to wipe down over his mouth. "That's good," Brock finally said.

It didn't matter that she knew they were being watched. She didn't care if the guards stormed the door and tore her away. Allison needed to be close to him again. She leaned out of her chair, stretching toward him and setting a knee into the mattress. Allison inched onto the bed beside him, lining herself along the edge against him, as his right arm welcomed her into him, folding around her shoulders to hold her tight. With her cuffed hands layered on his chest, she nestled her head on his shoulder, tucking her head under the curve of his throat, when he tilted his chin to press a long kiss into the top of her head and the hand on his injured side gingerly made its way to grab her hand.

"It's okay, baby," he told her, the gentle reassurance brushed into her hair.

"Yeah," she said, softly, holding back tears and the fingers of her free hand twisting the loose material of the sheet over him to hold on to.

She waited, but nobody came. Minutes passed and she stopped counting. Despite injury and how tired she knew he must be, Brock's hold on her never loosened and it gave her comfort, easing some of the heartache and exhaustion of the last couple of days, and confidence. The dark spots in their past couldn't hide the truth- that, no matter what either of them did for others, it was always for themselves to keep each other. Even though it still hurt, she could forgive him for the deceptions.

She had heard from him and heard from Fury. Underneath it all, he was the good man she always believed him to be, even if it was hard for others to see. They didn't know him like she did. No one had ever seen of him what he showed her the years they were together. He had risked everything to keep her safe, sacrificing his humanity and compromising his beliefs to do it. Forgiveness, hard as it may be, wasn't unreasonable. And now, with Eric gone, he was all she had left.

Allison wasn't sure exactly how long it had been, but time passed, slowly and silently, without either of them letting go. The door opened without a knock and her guard detail returned. Coming in behind them was Rogers and someone she hadn't seen before. The stranger walked around the others, carrying a tray to set on the table on the far side of Rumlow's bed, as Galloway spoke up.

"Meal time," he said, jutting his chin to direct her to come with them. "Back to your cell."

Allison tilted her head, looking up at Brock. He nodded to her, with an easy smile. She moved to turn off the bed and, with a quiet, grumbled profanity at the pain of moving, Rumlow sat up a little higher on his bed to eat. Rogers watched Allison walk past him, moving only his eyes to follow, as she surrendered herself to custody again. As she was led from the room, she heard Brock behind her.

"What, you wanna share my Jello?" he quipped.

Allison snuffled a laugh, with a small shake of her head.

"Time for another talk," Rogers said and it was the last she heard, as the door shut behind her.

June 2015

Allison dropped back into the passenger seat, twisting to set the bag of ammunition she'd just bought from the sporting goods store around the corner onto the floor behind her. When she turned back around, she caught Barnes' intent gaze fixed on the driver's side mirror. She looked over her shoulder, scanning the parked cars and pedestrians down the street behind them. She didn't clock any threats or problems.

"What is it?" she questioned, expectantly watching Barnes.

He shook his head, his brow knitting down a little further in concentration. "It's nothing," he decided. "Just a guy. It's not him."

"Him?" Allison worried. "Rogers?"

"Yeah," Barnes nodded, eyes still fixed in the mirror, as he put the car back into gear. "It's nothing."

Relaxed a little, by the conviction in his tone, Allison straightened up and put her seatbelt on. Barnes pulled away from the curb, giving one last look back in the rearview mirror, before he turned at the next block. Allison watched the reflection in the mirror on her side, looking for a tail and wondering what exactly Barnes had seen.

"When was the last time you saw him?" she asked.

"About two weeks before I found you," Barnes told her, wiping a hand down over his mouth. He pushed his hand back into his hair, looking a bit exhausted by the possible sighting, as he slowed to a stop at a red light.

"What if it had been him?" she wondered.

"We'd run," he told her, decidedly and flat.

"Still?" Allison gently pressed.

"You said so yourself," he reminded her, as traffic moved on, "he wouldn't be happy about seeing you either."

"That's my problem," she told him, with a self-deprecating smirk. "But you..."

"He's still gotta do what's right," he insisted.

"And what's that?"

"Taking me in," Barnes told her, matter of factly.

"I don't think he'd do that to you," Allison shook her head.

"He should," he disagreed.

"You wouldn't have done anything you did, if you could help it," she told Barnes. "He has to know that. And you have to start believing it, too."

Barnes threw her a glance, from the side of his eye. "It's not that simple."

"Why not?" she asked, watching him as he drove. "What you did all those years, it wasn't you. You didn't have a choice."

"I know," he nodded once. "But I did it."

"You ever stop to think, he's chasing you because he wants to help you?" she offered. "That he's still your friend and believes in you?"

Barnes shook his head and Allison noticed the subtle shift of his jaw forward. "He can't help me. It's better this way...for everyone."

"He won't stop," Allison pointed out, knowing what she knew of the Captain and the way he was haunted by the loss of his best friend.

"I know." A smirk pulled up the corner of Barnes' mouth and he snorted softly, his head bobbing in agreement. "Me and half of my unit were taken prisoner in the war. The Army wrote me off as dead. But not Steve." He smiled fondly, his eyes set on the road ahead. "Steve snuck into a HYDRA work camp to rescue me. Alone. That crazy son of a bitch parachutes into Austria to look for me, all on the slim chance I wasn't dead. He saved my life; saved us all. You're right, he won't stop."

"One day," Allison promised him, "you'll have to stop."

"Not today, sweetheart," he smirked.

July 2015

Passing her finished dinner tray back through the hatch of her cell, she made a request of the guard on the other side of the door. She asked to see Nick Fury. The agent nodded and told her he would see what he could do. Allison waited patiently, sitting on the side of her bed, with her hands folded together to hang beyond her knees. Almost a half hour after her request, just about the time she was beginning to think it would be denied or ignored, she looked up, hearing the mechanical sounds of the cell door unlocking. The door opened, revealing Fury on the other side. With his hands held comfortably behind his back, he walked into her cell.

Her hands free this time, Allison stood from the side of her bed, snapping to a crisp attention. A pleased smirk came to his face, as Fury waved a hand at her again.

"You don't have to do that anymore, Lieutenant," he reminded her. "But I appreciate the gesture."

The cell door closed and locked and Allison sat down again, when Fury motioned for her to do so. "I'd offer you some coffee or something," Allison began, before a shrug and sarcastic gesture around the room at the obvious lack of creature comforts, "but..."

"No, thanks," he snorted, plainly amused. "Trying to cut back anyway."

"I appreciate you coming to see me, Sir," she noted, looking up at him when he leaned his shoulders into the wall, folding his arms and kicking a boot heel to rest into the concrete behind him.

"Have you made your decision?" Fury asked.

"No, Sir."

"'No, sir' you have," he clarified, "or "No, sir', you haven't?"

"I haven't, Sir," she shook her head. "I'd like to talk to someone about it first."

"To Rumlow," he suggested, with a single nod. "Taking my generosity out for a walk, are we?"

"No, Sir," Allison insisted. "It's just not a decision to be made lightly. And, actually, I'd like to speak to Barnes about it."

Fury's brow rose, in surprise. "Interesting choice. I'll see what I can do. In the meantime, is there anything else you need?"

Allison couldn't help the small chuckle that shook her shoulders. "No, Sir. Oddly enough, these are the nicest accommodations I've been treated to in awhile."

"I'm sure it's a temporary condition," he assured her, with an easy smile. "I'll see if Sgt. Barnes is willing to talk to you."


	59. Chapter 59

July 2015

An hour after Fury left her, Allison was transferred back to the interview room. In the room, Barnes was already waiting for her, standing by the side of the table. She moved to the far side of the table and a guard pulled out the chair. Allison remained standing, lined up in front of the shackles on the table, waiting to have her handcuffs exchanged.

"That's not necessary," Barnes advised, when the second agent picked up the first cuff and chain to add to Allison's wrist. The agent stopped, looking up at Barnes for confirmation. "Take those off of her," he added, inclining his head toward her restraints.

The agent put down the shackle. He pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked the handcuffs, unhooking them from Allison's wrists and securing them in a holder on the back of his gun belt. Barnes nodded his thanks, sending the guards out of the room. When the door shut and relocked, he motioned for her to sit as he did. Allison took her seat, with a wary glance over to the one way glass in the room and the cameras in the corners.

"It's just you and me," he told her. "Fury said you wanted to talk to me."

Allison smirked. "Kinda funny thinking about you and Fury being social."

Barnes snorted, with a nod. "Turns out, he's a pretty understanding guy."

"Apparently," she agreed.

"So, what can I do for you?" he asked, opening his arms and raising his hands with the offer.

"I don't understand what's going on here," she told him.

"And you think I do?" he chuckled.

"Fury offered to bring me back in," Allison explained. "He offered me a space on the Avengers team, with Ste-...with Capt. Rogers."

"Sounds like things are looking up for you," Barnes smiled.

"It doesn't feel right," she confessed.

"You think it's some kind of a set up," he surmised, with a thoughtful nod.

"I don't know," Allison admitted. "It's an incredible offer."

"But..."

"But I can't help wondering if it's a good idea," she said. "I'm not an agent anymore." She shook her head, reiterating, "I'm not. The agency that hired me, the things I did; it was all for someone's agenda. What if that's what this is again?"

"Doesn't everyone have an agenda?" Barnes suggested. "Maybe the only thing that you have to decide is, whose agenda you can live with?"

"The lesser of two evils?" Allison considered.

"I wouldn't classify Steve Rogers as 'evil'," he qupped. "He may be the most honest and righteous person I'll ever know. If Steve asked me to do something, I don't think that I'd stop to worry if it was right or wrong." Allison nodded, taking in what he said. "You know what's right and wrong," Barnes added. "That's all you did for the last year was fight against what you knew was wrong, wasn't it? Well," he shrugged, considering, "with a little personal agenda in there, but undermining HYDRA, crippling bases, stealing intelligence; that's what mattered. Sounds like Fury sees that and thinks someone like you could help Steve do the same."

"I don't think that Capt. Rogers is interested in my help," she said. "My bridges all burned, last year in DC."

Barnes nodded. "Bridges can be mended."

"I don't know if I deserve them to be," Allison shook her head.

"Wasn't the plan to keep fighting?" he reminded her. "Weren't we supposed to take out HYDRA?"

"That was before I ended up in handcuffs under armed guard," she pointed out.

"At some point," he began, "you might want to consider taking some of your own advise." Allison gave him a quizzical look, not sure what he meant, and he elaborated, "If I have to realize that what I did wasn't my fault, maybe you do, too. You're a good person, whatever-your-name-is." Allison smirked at his grin and the jab at her, with a small shake of her head. "It'd be a shame if you quit now."

"And if it doesn't work out?" she questioned. "If Cap and the rest of them don't trust me or want me arou-"

"You call him _Cap_?" Barnes snickered.

Allison stopped, her lips parted, realizing what she'd said. "Yeah," she nodded. "Well, I used to, anyway. He told me not to anymore."

"He did?" he wondered, his tone saying he found it odd to hear that from her. "He didn't like it at first, but he never told us to stop."

"Yeah, well," Allison muttered, "he probably wasn't dressing you down at the time for being a traitor and a liar."

Barnes inhaled and nodded, his lips pushed into a thoughtful frown. "That happened, huh?"

Allison nodded. "Can't blame him," she shrugged. "Besides letting everyone think I was dead, I kinda made a scene down in the lobby, last time I was here. And before that, the last time we were together, I was chasing him through a parking garage and we both kinda tried to kill each other. So, I can hardly blame him for being a little mad about our last couple of visits."

Across from her, Barnes snuffled a laugh. " _Kinda_ made a scene? _Kinda_ tried to kill each other?" he parroted. "I heard about that. I guess he told me all 'a that stuff tryin' to warn me about you, or something."

"Must've been tuning him out, like you did me," Allison chuckled.

"I never ignored you," Barnes disagreed. "But I maybe stopped listening when you said something stupid."

"What'd I ever say that was stupid?" she pressed, an open smile showing her skepticism that he'd be able to come up with an example.

"Well, just last week you said we should raid this big HYDRA base in Pennsylvania," he pointed out, "and now look at us, in the last place either of us wanted to be."

"Shit," Allison grinned, dropping her head to shake. "Alright, fine. I'll give you that  _one_ thing."

Barnes chuckled and shook his head, until both of their amusements withered and it was quiet. "So, are you gonna do it?" he wondered, cocking his head as he studied her.

Allison took in and let out a deep breath, before sweeping her head. "I still don't know," she admitted.

"Did you, uh," he shrugged, "you know, ask _him_ about it?"

"Rumlow?" she checked and Barnes nodded.

Allison shook her head and he asked, "Why not?" She shrugged. "I heard they've let you visit."

"Yeah," she confirmed. "Fury's doing."

"Not that you're complaining," he implied.

"No."

"What would he say?" Barnes wondered.

"He'd tell me to do it, if I wanted to," she knew. "But he'd remind me that I don't have to. He told me, once me and the others got out that I didn't have to do this anymore. He said, he was trying to get me back to Rogers, figuring I'd be safe here. That is, before things turned out like this," Allison noted, with a limp gesture around the room to reference her situation. 

"That's all he wanted," he agreed, with a nod.

Allison's brow knitted down in confusion and curiosity at Barnes' choice of words. "What?" 

"When he called," Barnes nodded.

"When who called?"

His head tipped to the side and his eyebrows raised over a tired expression told her she already knew who he was talking about. "That phone in your bag," Barnes explained. "Nobody was around the first couple of times it rang, but it did again, when Steve and I were going through the bag to give him that tablet."

"He called you?" she pressed, more than a little surprised.

"Well," he shrugged, "I don't know that he expected _me_ to answer, but yeah."

Her curiosity was piqued and she leaned into the edge of the table. "Did you talk to him?"

"Yeah," he unhappily snorted. "That was awkward." 

"What'd you say?" She had to know more.

"At first I wasn't even sure it was yours," he told her. "You never used a phone when we were together. But when I heard his voice, I-" Barnes frowned and shrugged. "I figured it had to be yours." He slouched into the back of his chair, crossing his arms. "Did you have that phone the whole time?"

Allison shook her head, promising, "No. He gave it to me before I left to find Rogers." She saw the lingering suspicion in his eyes and insisted, "If I had it the whole time, I wouldn't have needed your help to find him, would I?"

He nodded, slowly, accepting her reasoning. "Guess not."

"For what it's worth," she offered, "thanks for taking his call."

"Yeah, no problem," he smirked and then seemed to reconsider. "Actually, yeah, do thank me. Steve probably would'a hung up on him."

She had to agree with that, nodding with a self-deprecating smirk and nod. "Why didn't you?" she wondered.

"You didn't make the rendezvous," Barnes began. He swept his head, sitting up again to fold his arms on the edge of the table. "Not that we waited very long. But when I got there, they said you'd been taken. Steve said we weren't going back; said it was settled with you not to."

Allison nodded her agreement. "I told him I'd get you out and not to wait, if I wasn't there."

"That phone rang in your bag," he recalled, "and I thought it was you."

"Calling for a ride..." she mused.

"Something like that," he smirked. "The first thing I heard was, 'Whoever this is, don't hang up'. Needless to say, I was less than thrilled to hear it was him."

"What'd he tell you?"

"He said, you had been taken and HYDRA gave you an ultimatum." Barnes seemed to bristle at the memory. "He said, they were-" He stopped, taking a moment to rub the side of his finger across his chin and seeming at a loss for words. He sniffed, straightening his posture again and continuing, "If you didn't tell them where I was, they'd do to you what they did to me. He- Ah, fuck it." He shook his head, frustrated, and pointed upward. "What's that thing's name?"

"Thi-?"Allison blinked. "You mean JARVIS?"

"Yeah," he nodded, looking appreciative for the help. "As soon as Steve knew who was on the phone, he had JARVIS try and trace it and-" Barnes' eyes tipped up, moving around the ceiling in a fruitless attempt to locate the source of the disembodied voice that answered his call, "JARVIS?"

"How may I be of assistance, Sgt. Barnes?"

"That is never not fuckin' weird," he muttered, with a small shake of his head, and Allison snickered as her unspoken agreement. "Replay the file for Ka- for Allison's phone..."

"Yes, Sir. One moment."

In the next instant, the conversation between Barnes and Brock replayed through the speaker in the ceiling above them.

"You know who this is, so stop asking stupid questions and listen. Clock's ticking."

"What do you want?"

"I have Kate Bellamy. If you're half as eager to get her back as I think you are, you'll do exactly as I say."

"Go on..."

"They know she's here and what she did. She has 24 hours to give up your location, or they'll use her to replace you."

"What?"

"You heard me. She's not gonna do it, and they're not gonna be patient about trying to change her mind. She'll be presented with the choice in the morning. They're not expecting her to cooperate. They're already making arrangements to get the team ready and start preps on the equipment. In less than 48 hours, there won't be anything of her left."

"What do you want?"

"There are men here willing to get her out, but not enough to see it through if this goes south. I need your guarantee for an exfil for Bellamy and six men. In exchange for safe delivery of Bellamy to the rally point, anyone who survives the extraction is given safe passage with her. My men will provide as much intel about HYDRA as they each respectively have, in exchange for immunity and protection for them and their families."

"What's in it for you?"

"There's nothing in it for me. The deal is for the six men, if they deliver you Bellamy."

"How do I know this isn't a trap?"

"You don't. But you better remember what she did for you, and decide real fuckin' fast if you're gonna man up and return the favor."

"What's your plan?" 

"Bellamy and my men will be airborne at oh-610 on the morning of the 21st, part of a squadron of MD80s headed out for training exercises. Pilots will divert two of the loaches and head for the rally point, if all goes well. If you plan on taking any support with you, warn them Bellamy and the others will be kitted out in HYDRA uniforms and gear. My men will identify themselves to you and your people with the password 'phoenix'.

"If you agree to this deal, I'll give you the transponder codes and original flight plan to track the birds in the air, until they break away from formation and terminate their signals. I'll give you tail numbers of the aircraft and the coordinates of a rally point."

Barnes agreed and Rumlow spouted out a list of numbers to correspond to the information he promised to give.

"I'll finalize the mission outline for my men and get back to you."

The call ended abruptly. Not that she expected warm goodbyes between the two men. The call had ended, but audio still played from above. This time, Rogers' impatient voice mixed on the line with Rumlow's.

"Rumlow."

"This is Rogers. You have Kate Bellamy."

"Yeah."

"Is she alive?"

"We're looking at her right now. I'll call you back."

Allison recognized Brock's half of the conversation from his visit to her cell with Jack. She admired the nerve he had, to keep that phone on him and to answer it in front of Rollins. She wouldn't have thought, for how cool the short exchange played out, that he would have been speaking to the Captain. Another call began.

"This is Rogers."

"This is _not_ a two way street. I said _I'd call you_ and, for her sake, you better start following the rules."

"Have you done anything to her yet?"

"No, but everything is proceeding on schedule. Command's ordered her moved to Medical for examination and prep for the procedures first thing in the morning. My men will recover her before that transfer is scheduled and link up with the training flight, as planned. Now, if you're through trying to compromise OpSec, we're done. I'll contact you if anything changes. Otherwise, be at the rally point tomorrow morning by oh-620. We won't have time to wait around, if you're late."

Rumlow didn't give any time for anymore questions. The line disconnected and the playback ended. Allison fell back into her seat, giving a soft hum of her understanding of how her rescue came about.

"That's how it went," Barnes said.

Allison considered the series of calls, with a slow thoughtful nod to herself. "He called me Kate, and Rogers said the same," she noted. "Why didn't he tell you who I really was?"

Barnes shook his head. "I figure maybe he didn't want to confuse me," he shrugged. "Steve was there, when that first call came in. I answered on the speaker and, as soon as he heard Rumlow's voice, he was recording and tracing the call. When it was over, he asked me if I was sure about the deal. He didn't want to do it, but he didn't say why. Just said, it sounded like a trap."

With her expression softened by the reminder of the lies, she asked, "If you had known- If he had told you who I really was and what I'd done, would you have come back?"

He blinked at the question, his head tipping subtly to one side as he confidently answered, "Of course." The corners of Allison's mouth involuntarily twitched in a frown and she looked at her hands folded on the table. "You came back for me," he reminded her. "I'll come back for you." He reached across the table to put his warm hand on her arm. "It doesn't matter who you are, or what you did. Nobody deserves what they did to me. And I, sure as hell, wouldn't let them do it to you, of all people. Even if Steve didn't come with me, I'd have come back."

Her lips pulled back into a tight grin, the pull meant to hold back the tremor she felt coming there. Allison nodded, offering a quiet, "Thank you."

"Anytime," he assured her, with a warm grin. "Just don't make a habit out of it, okay, doll?"

Allison snorted at the unexpected joke, shaking her downturned head, as her shoulders shook with suppressed laughter. "I'll try not to," she agreed, using the side of her thumb to wipe away a tear that had escaped her lashes while she'd been looking down.

"That's better," Barnes smiled. "She laughed. She laughs. I didn't think I'd see the day, but, hot damn, here it is."

"Shut up," she tried to frown, flipping him off and wiping at her eyes with her free hand.

Still grinning, he pulled his hand back to his half of the table and asked, "So, you know what you're gonna do now? Could use another friendly face around here."

"You stickin' around?" Allison checked. "Time to stop running?"

Barnes nodded. "It's time."


	60. Chapter 60

July 2015

Allison's eyes flicked up to the door over his shoulder and Barnes twisted in his seat to see behind him. Rogers stood waiting on the other side of the door for it to unlock and open. He stepped in and let the metal door secure behind him, before he walked over to the table. Allison and Barnes shared a quick glance, as the Captain stopped at the corner of the table on Barnes' side of the room.

"What's going on?" Barnes asked, looking up to his friend who was looking down at Allison.

"It's time we talked," he told her.

Barnes turned to Allison for a long moment, before saying, "Yeah, sure. We were just about done anyway, right?"

Allison gave a nod. "Guess so," she consented. 

With another look between Rogers and Allison, Barnes pushed back from the table to stand. He gave them both a nod, as his goodbye, and moved to the door to go. Passing through the doorway, Barnes flashed a small grin of encouragement to Allison, before he was out of sight and the heavy mechanical clanks told Allison she was locked in the room with the Captain alone. She kept her eyes on him, her expression neutral, as he took his friend's seat. Allison drew in a measured breath and sat a little straighter, her hands withdrawing from the table to rest in her lap. It was quiet in the room for several long seconds, as they both stared at each other.

"Fury says I can trust you," Rogers finally said.

"All evidence to the contrary," Allison quipped, and right away she knew levity wouldn't play.

"Fury said," he emphasized, "doesn't mean I do."

"Obviously," she muttered.

Rogers folded his arms tightly across his chest, leaning back in his seat to study her with a discerning eye. "I don't know what to make of you anymore," he finally decided.

"Understandable," Allison conceded.

"I thought I knew you," he said.

"You did," she told him.

"The person I knew, I trusted," he remembered. "She was reliable, caring, and honest. She was a good friend, the whole time I knew her. Guess I should'a known better than to be friends with a spy. She never raised any suspicions or doubts. But, then again, neither did a lot of people. I used to trust Rumlow, too."

"You had to," Allison shrugged, dismissing the weight of the jabs he'd thrown. "You should have. At the very least, for mission support." She gave a regretful sweep of her head. "Regardless of what you think now, he always had your back. We both did."

"And look what that got me," he scoffed. "Two more lost friends turned double agents in custody."

"It's not that simple, Captain," she shook her head. "I wish it was. It'd save everyone a lot of heartache, if it were."

"Heartache," he repeated, as if the word disgusted him. "Doesn't even come close to this kind of betrayal."

"I can't expect you to understand," she acknowledged, feeling a little smaller in front of him than she had ever before. "It's so much more complicated to look at it from the outside. You don't know motives; can't fathom the reality, because you didn't have the hard decisions to make. You may not ever understand why we did what we did."

"I made plenty of hard decisions," Rogers evenly corrected her.

"You didn't have to make any like these, in these circumstances," Allison assured him. "It wasn't just SHIELD or HYDRA; right or wrong. It was about people and that's never as clear cut."

"An investment banker, huh?" the Captain unhappily shook his head.

"Yeah," Allison snorted, the soft sound as weak as the smile that accompanied it, her eyes drifting blankly to her hands loosely clasped beneath the tabletop. "Normal guy, with a straight job, who couldn't be brought around without blowing my cover. It was a good story. Sorry about that."

"Yeah, I can tell," he sarcastically nodded.

"I am," she insisted, eyes still tiredly averted. "I didn't enjoy lying to everyone, but what could I do? I would've lost my team, maybe my job. Both of us would have, actually. It was purely selfish. I wanted my career and him. Seemed like such a small thing to do."

"The first lie is the easiest," he coldly suggested.

"That really was the only lie," she promised. "Sure, it led to other diversions to keep the story up, but that was the only lie."

"And HYDRA?" Rogers pressed.

"HYDRA was a cover," Allison solemnly shook her head. "It took me a minute to figure out what was really happening. That day in DC, I found out about Rumlow, and Mick and some others came for me. I went along to try and figure out what was going on. I thought they might take me to him. I was standing in the middle of the enemy camp and they thought I belonged there." She lifted her eyes to see his again. "What would you have done?" The Captain didn't answer and she went on. "I gathered some intel and got out when I had the chance. After the raid in Ithaca, I made a run for it. After that, you know what happened up until now."

The Captain stared at her, stern and concentrating. He took a deep breath and asked, "What about Bucky?"

"What about him?" Allison sighed, her head lolling to the side.

"Does he trust you?"

The question struck her and she knew it showed as a bit of surprise in her expression. Allison blinked, her mouth gaping slightly as she considered the answer. She shook her head slowly.

"No," she decided. "I don't think he does."

"He's been vouching for you," Rogers made causal mention.

"A vague sense of obligation, maybe," Allison suggested. "Trying to repay me for helping him? But speaking on someone's behalf and trusting them can be miles apart."

"So, his faith is misplaced?" he suggested.

Allison nodded, regretfully. "Yes." She swallowed the awful taste of the truth. "He would never have ended up with HYDRA, if I hadn't let them take him. I traded his freedom for the easy out, instead of the fight. He tried to kill me for it, the first chance he got. And he was right to. I don't know what they may have done to him while he was there, but it wouldn't have happened otherwise. I never told him what I was doing. I strung him along, using him to help me find Rumlow. ...I never even told him my real name. There shouldn't be a reason for him to trust me anymore."

"That should be enough for anyone," the Captain agreed. There was a pause, while Allison looked down again, uncomfortable under his judgmental gaze. "And yet, somehow, he insists he does." She raised her eyes in silent doubt of what he just said. "He says he trusts you with his life."

"Well," she managed, pausing a beat, "it's his decision to make."

She went to Barnes for advice, figuring he might be the least biased person in the building, since he knew her least. He finally knew all the angles to everything that had happened in the last year, and that he was free and able to speak to and watch Rogers made him an invaluable resource for assessing the viability of Fury's offer. Allison had hoped he would give her something to help guide her decision, but she hadn't expected him to support the idea of her staying so easily. Barnes was being rather generous, in her opinion, all things considered. For what she'd put him through, part of her was still waiting for the other shoe to drop. She realized she should have skipped Barnes and gone straight to the source.

"It's my decision to make now," Rogers pointed out. "Fury says he offered you a slot on our team."

"I don't put much stock in it," Allison dismissed. "You're not really his personnel to command anymore. It's your team. You can do whatever you want."

"Seems a little indifferent for someone who's always had something to say before," he noted.

Allison shrugged, knowing she couldn't force anything, even if she wanted to. She understood, "It doesn't matter what I say. It's your team, regardless of Fury's offer. Nothing's really up to me, is it?"

The Captain didn't answer. Allison's eyes followed him up as he pushed his hands into the table to stand. 

Allison couldn't help her own genuine curiosity, asking, "You said what Fury and Sgt. Barnes think, but do _you_ trust me, Captain?"

"You brought him back," Rogers acknowledged, a subtle nod showing as he inhaled. "You got him home. Thank you for that. ...But, no. No, I don't."

Allison nodded once, accepting the answer she had anticipated. Rogers stepped away from the table, moving to the door and turning his back to her. Her fingers laced and twisted tightly in her lap, holding the guilt and disappointment there instead of letting it rise to her face. He left the room, waiting on the other side of the door for it to lock behind him, as usual.

July 2013

Standing in front of the door, Allison realized, she hadn't really thought this through. _Shit_. Her hands were burdened with two extra large pizza boxes, a pair of long neck six packs hooked into her fingers on either side of the boxes above, and a shopping bag balanced atop it all. There was no way she was going to be able to knock. Allison blew air out her puffed cheeks, annoyed with herself for her lack of forethought. She shifted her weight, using the toe of her shoe as a stand-in for her knuckles to knock.

From the other side of the door, she heard footsteps nearing with the called out question of who it was. Allison mischievously smirked to herself, when she answered, loudly and with a proper Brooklyn accent, "Stripper-gram."

Over her shoulder, Allison turned her head to see the woman stepping out of apartment 3 to her right. The woman stopped, looking Allison over with a curious rise in her brow, and maybe a hint of embarrassment at Allison's announcement. They flashed a polite smile at each other and the blonde pulled her door shut and headed down the hallway, just as the locks were being undone on the door in front of Allison. Allison shook off the feeling she'd seen that girl somewhere before and fixed on a wide smile at the door.

The Captain opened the door, looking thoroughly perplexed and questioning, "Stripper-gr-" His shoulders fell and head cocked tiredly to the side at seeing her. "Allison, what are you-"

"Happy birth-day," she cooed, dropping her hip and pouting her lips, "to you."

"Al, really, I-"

"Happy birthday...to...you," she sang on, using the boxes in her hands to bully her way into the apartment, the Captain's back falling into the door to get out of her way.

"Al," Rogers complained, reluctantly closing the door.

Allison ignored him, wrapping her way around the corner into the kitchen, setting down the end of the boxes to slide onto the counter and going to put the beer in the fridge, while she wound up her breathy recital. When she stood up from the refrigerator and turned around, Rogers was standing there, leaned into the doorframe of the kitchen, with his arms crossed and a bored expression on his face. She stopped, waiting for some kind of reaction to his sexy serenade.

Rogers quirked up an indifferent brow. "You done now?" he checked.

Allison frowned, holding up and letting her arms fall, with a slap, into her sides. "That's it?" she begged. "No applause? No tip? Geez, you're a grumpy, old sonuvabitch, aren't ya?"

He straightened up off of the doorway, rolling his eyes and sighing. "I said I didn't want to do anything for my birthday, and I meant it."

"Well," she shrugged, "it's a good thing you can't do much less than just sitting on your ass drinking beer."

"How'd you even get in?" he questioned. "It's a locked building."

"Aw, c'mon," she smiled. "Pretty girl, hands full of stuff- What guy wouldn't hold the door on his way out for her?"

Rogers broke, giving in to a small grin in the corner of his mouth, with a defeated shake of his head. He jutted his chin toward the boxes and bag on the counter, relenting, "Alright, I saw the beer. What else you got in there?"

Allison moved the shopping bag aside. With a pat of her hand on the lid of the first delivery box, she said, "Two extra large, sausage, pepperoni, and bacon pizzas with extra cheese." She pulled a small, white bakery box out of her bag and a few DVDs, noting, "Cupcakes for desert and movies to watch."

The Captain lifted the corner of the pizza box, peeking inside. "You're a pain in the ass, you know that?"

"You're happy I'm here, and you know it," she assured him, passing behind him to start opening cupboard doors to find some plates. "You knew I wouldn't let your sad sack self mope your 95th birthday away alone."

"You know what, Al..." he halfheartedly dared, reaching past her to open the next cupboard for the plates.

Allison flashed him an angelic smile, batting her eyes at him. Rogers groaned out a sigh and rolled his eyes, going back to the counter to fix himself a plate. While he flipped open the first box of pizza, Allison got back into the fridge for a pair of beers. The Captain joked, it would take a lot more than that to get him drunk. Allison smiled, looking down at the bottles in her hands.

"Who said the beers were for you?" she winked.

Rogers snorted and shook his head. "Alright, smartass. What movies did you bring this time?"

"Got your notebook handy?" Allison checked. "We're going to check off Star Wars tonight."

"All of 'em?" he wondered, tearing off a paper towel for a napkin and handing one to Allison.

"The original trilogy," she narrowed it down, plating up her food. "I leave the prequels for you to discover on your own, if you choose. But I'm not that cruel."

"Three movies tonight?" Rogers considered. "We're gonna need more food."

"Who said the pizza was for you?"

July 2015

Outside of the interview room, the escort detail had procedure to follow. Allison was put back in handcuffs and returned to her cell. She didn't expect anything else. Until she gave Fury her decision and was accepted by the team, she could easily still be considered the enemy. There was a lot of trust to earn back.

Entering her cell, she wasn't alone. Sitting on the foot of her bed was Barton. He stood quickly when she came in. He watched, as the agent removed her cuffs and exited the cell. The door stayed open and it didn't escape her notice. She eyed the doorway suspiciously.

"Thinking about making a run for it?" Barton joked.

Allison looked over, shaking her head, with a small smile. "No. It's just...usually, they prefer that locked tight."

Clint nodded, with a hum of understanding. He gave her a once over, noting, "You look good, Al." His eyes widened and he put up a hand to correct himself. "I don't mean, like, you know, you look _good_ or anything. I mean, you look healthy, like you've been taking care of yourself."

"I know what you meant," she chuckled. "Two surprise visitors in a day. Ain't I the lucky one?"

"Nice place you got here," he joked and Allison laughed.

"What brings you by?" she wondered, moving to lean against the wall opposite him and folding her arms.

Allison spotted a duffel bag, half under the bed beside Barton's booted feet. He reached for it, holding it up for her to see and setting it up on the bed. "Brought your things," he said and motioned toward the bag. "Clothes and stuff. No weapons, obviously, but the rest is there."

"Thanks," she nodded, slightly wary of the gesture.

"Fury told us he talked to you," Barton said. "He said he wants to put you on the team."

"I can imagine the shit that stirred," Allison dryly mused.

Clint snorted, his head bobbing in agreement. "There were some... _diverse_ reactions," he admitted.

"I'm sure I know the short list of fast 'no's," she bet. His expression invited her to share and she listed, "Rogers and Wilson."

"Nailed it," he nodded, with a quick thumbs up.

"I've got to admit," she chuckled, "it would've been fun to be a fly on the wall for that meeting."

"It wasn't all bad," Barton offered. "There were a couple 'maybe's."

"What'd you vote?" she wondered.

"I don't know," he told her. "Thought I'd come down and see for myself, before I decide."

Allison held out her arms. "What do you see?"

"Fury trusts you," he reminded her. "I trust Fury. So, that should count for something, right?" Allison shrugged and Clint ducked his head with an awkward chuckle. "I'll admit, I got a little teary eyed when I heard you were dead." She inhaled deeply and let it out slow, a little regretful for the deception. "I went to your funeral," Barton informed her. "I couldn't make the burial, but the wake was nice. You'd have liked it."

"Sorry I missed it," she smiled.

"Well," he shrugged, "there's always next time." She couldn't help but laugh. "In all seriousness, though, Al," Clint went on, "I was shocked at what people were sayin'. It was about a week after the funeral that people said you were HYDRA. The more people found in the files Nat dumped from the SHIELD servers, the worse it got; talking treason, calling you a traitor. They were even talking about taking you out of Arlington."

"That's rude," Allison said, trying to lighten the tone of the conversation again. "I didn't do anything for HYDRA in the Army. They could at least give me that."

"I didn't know you were even eligible for it," he mentioned.

"Purple Heart," she humbly shrugged. "Maybe sometime we can grab a beer and share stories about good ol' days."

"Yeah," he snorted. When his face fell, he went on. "It sounded pretty bad. It looked even worse. I didn't want to believe it. After all," he added, gesturing his open palm to her, "I thought you and me were on the same page about something shady going on, before Cap blew the lid off it all. And now, you and Rumlow..." Barton gave her a long, discerning look, before he spoke again, asking, "Al, did you know? Did you know about HYDRA inside SHIELD?"

Allison shook her head, promising, "I didn't know."

There was a quiet pause in the air. Barton looked her in the eye, seeming to be making a decision. He nodded.

"Okay," he said, his brow rising up in a kind of shrug. "That's good enough for me."

"That's it?" she half-doubted.

Barton nodded again. "I believe you, Al," he assured her. "Fury answered a lot of questions about what happened after DC. I'm having a little trouble with the whole you and Rumlow thing, but..." He shook his head, his face pinching in confusion. "How did that even happen?" Clint put up a hand, quickly. "No, don't. I don't even wanna know." Allison snickered, hiding her smile behind the side of her fist. "No, actually, yeah. How did I not see that?"

"Nobody did," she offered in conciliation. "It's hard to see one thing when I was telling everyone to look at something else."

Clint ducked and shook his head, a small grin on his lips. When he looked up again, he jerked his thumb toward the door, saying, "Come on. Let's get out of here."

"Out?" Allison questioned, looking between him and the door.

"Yeah," he nodded. "There's a room upstairs you can use." When Allison didn't budge, he explained, "Fury said it was up to you, but if I thought you could be trusted, you didn't have to stay in lockup."

"Fury said?" she checked. "Shouldn't Rogers be the one-"

"He may not have the fancy DC office anymore, but Fury's still kinda in charge," Barton told her. "He might need a minute to warm up, but Cap listens to him. I'm not promising it won't be awkward as fuck, but me and Nat-"

"Natasha?" Allison asked, her curiosity piqued.

Barton nodded, with a flinch of a frown in his expression. "Nat has a little sympathy for your situation," he said. "She understands having to do things you weren't in control of. Honestly, between you and me," he began, leaning in a step for a little privacy, "I'm surprised she said 'yes'. You know how suspicious she gets." He straightened up again. "She agreed with Fury; you wouldn't have done anything if you knew it was HYDRA telling you to do it." He smirked. "Besides, I think, secretly, she's a little jealous for all the work you did after you disappeared; no rules of engagement, no PR bullshit. She was definitely a little impressed you got Barnes."

"I cheated to catch him," Allison admitted.

"Maybe," he conceded, "but nobody else can ever say they caught a ghost." Clint tipped his head toward the door again. "What d'ya say?" 

Allison hesitated, looking at Clint for a long moment, before shifting her eyes to the open doorway.

"It's no trick, Al," Barton promised, the corner of his mouth tugged back in a small, but sincere, smile. He jerked his thumb toward the door. "It's done. You saved Barnes and the others, kicked HYDRA in the balls for awhile. It's time to relax, now. You're home."

She let out the breath she didn't know she'd been holding and her eyes flitted down to her duffel bag on the bed. Allison nodded, slowly. She took the few steps to cross the room and slung the bag over her shoulder. "Okay."


	61. Chapter 61

Dec 2010

"Hey, Addams!"

Allison stopped, turning on her heel to look down the hall behind her. She sidestepped to keep from blocking the entrance to the women's locker room and waited for Mickelson to catch up. She glanced at her watch, double checking how many minutes she had until the morning formation. She gave herself a quick once over and a subtle tip of her head, approving of the shine on the toe of her boots. Allison didn't want to be late or look shabby on her first day of her assignment to Echo Team.

"Good morning," she smiled, as Eric fell into step beside her.

"Mornin'," he grinned back. "Did you get any sleep?"

Allison smirked. "Not really. You?"

"Nope. Like a damned kid on Christmas Eve," Mickelson beamed.

"Hell of a Christmas present," she quipped.

"Yeah, but just think of all the toys you get to play with," he winked, giving her arm a nudge with his elbow.

Allison smiled, as they stopped, waiting on the elevator. She liked Mickelson. He was a good guy; smart, skilled, and had a hell of a sense of humor about him. She appreciated how welcoming he had been, considering she was part of the competition in the candidate class for the empty slots with Echo. Most of the other agents kept to themselves or were only looking out for their own interests. But Eric was a social guy, inviting her along to a few late night poker games, when the hard nosed training staff actually let them have a Saturday's night to relax in the barracks. She was glad he was one of the ones that made it through the grueling process.

Walking off the elevator and down the hall to the briefing room, Mickelson elbowed her again, teasing when he asked, "You nervous?"

With a small cough of an awkward laugh, her brow rose and she admitted, "Little bit."

"Don't be," he told her. "We made it through, just like the rest of 'em. We belong here."

"Said the guy to the only girl in a 48 man platoon," she pointed out.

Eric hummed, with a contemplative nod. "Didn't think about that," he mused. Mickelson shrugged. "But still, you're here. You earned it."

"This team's been active for 23 years," Allison said, with the kind of reverence the notation deserved. "23 years of apex operators, and never a girl."

"Well, then," Eric smiled, pushing open the door to Briefing Room A for her, "guess you'll have to show them what they've been missing out on all these years."

July 2015

She might as well have been stepping over a tripwire or a mine, the way Allison took her first step out of her cell. Barton was right. She was free to go. No one was standing post outside the door. No one was waiting to put her in handcuffs to move her somewhere else. The agents on duty were casually gathered around their station at the end of the row of cells, paying her no extra attention, other than a couple glances her way at noticing movement in the hall ahead of them. She fell into step off of Clint's shoulder, following him toward the exit. As they approached the agents at the desk, Allison felt herself tensing, watching Galloway rise from his chair.

"Lt. Addams," he nodded, and she stopped when Clint did. "It's about time you got off my block."

Allison relaxed a little. "Yeah, well, you all have just been such good hosts, why would anyone want to leave?"

Galloway smirked, with an amused bob of his head. "Well, I'd say the door's always open for you, but..."

"No, thanks," she flashed a quick smile, still half expecting a trick to be pulled.

"Hey, you still owe me a round," Barton pointed at the senior agent.

"Good luck collecting on that," Galloway scoffed. "I'm never playing golf with you again."

Allison didn't know what to make of the exchange, deciding to refrain from smiling. Until she was out of the detention area, she was still on edge. Clint was already shifting his weight to continue walking and Allison was ready to follow suit.

Crossing the threshold of the prison area, a small relief came to her and Allison let out a slow breath. There wasn't any conversation in the elevator. Allison still didn't quite know what to make of the situation and didn't have anything to say. If any small talk was going to be made, it'd have to come from Barton. The elevator stopped at the 89th floor and Clint gestured her out ahead of him with an eager smile. Allison went ahead, taking a few measured steps forward to see over the railing edge of a balcony opening before her. She stopped just close enough to see below, without giving herself away, naming the voices in her head she caught on the air before she could see their source.

Beneath her, a large living area was touched on the edges by two full walls of glass that let the late evening glow of the city around them show through. To the right was a kitchen area with barstools along a high counter and a few round tables with chairs for dining near the windows. There was a polished black grand piano in the far corner of the room, wedged into the city view. Along the other wall of windows, a billiards table and high top bar tables were in use. She watched for a moment, as Rogers drew back his cue for a shot at a striped ball in front of the pocket across from him. Waiting for his turn, was Barnes, his stick stood into the floor and his eyes set on his opponent. A cupboard door shutting took Allison's attention away, showing her Natasha just coming in to the kitchen.

"You wanna go down first, or do you want to see your room?" Barton offered.

Allison took one last pan over the space below and shook her head. "My room," she decided, watching Rogers straighten up from the game. Turning to follow Barton, she added a quiet, "Please."

Clint led her down a wide hall, with closed doors spaced generously apart on either side. Near the end of the hall, he stopped and pointed a finger to the door on her left. With a grin, he stepped across her to lean in and push the door open. He inclined his head for her to go first, and Allison smiled her thanks. On the other side of the door, the room opened wide, the lights coming on to reveal a floor to ceiling view of the Hudson and Brooklyn beyond, painted in the fading oranges and reds of the day. She could practically feel the plushness of the bedding over the queen sized bed just by the sight of the materials and their fluff. There was a large, double door closet to her right, at the end of a long dresser and mirror. On the other side of the room, there was a small seating area with a pair of leather arm chairs set apart by a small dining table and a narrow kitchenette. The wall behind the door held a large flat panel TV above a long entertainment center filled with electronics and decorated modestly with framed black and white photos of famous New York features around a single stem of white orchids in a narrow, pebble filled vase that matched the one on the table.

"It's not much," Barton spoke up from the doorway, "bare essentials." Allison looked over her shoulder to see him. "If you decide to stay, we can spruce it up some." He pointed to the corner of the room, noting, "Bathroom's through there."

Allison shook her head. "No. This is more than fine," she assured him, still taking in the room.

He jerked his thumb toward the hallway, saying, "Saw Nat in the kitchen. That means somebody brought food or is about to. You wanna come eat? There's plenty left over from dinner."

Letting her bag slip from her shoulder, catching the strap in her hand to swing it up to the leather covered bench at the foot of the bed, she was just turning to answer, when Allison caught sight of a slender wrist reaching to knock on the side of the doorframe. Peering into the room from around the edge of the door was a thin, attractive redhead. Allison hadn't personally met Pepper Potts, but she had seen enough of her on television and on magazine covers to recognize her on the spot.

"Is she h-" Pepper stopped, standing up straight and clutching an expensively bound padfolio to her side with both hands. Her curious face broke open into a wide grin, when her gaze found Allison in the room. Her enthusiasm was endearing, as she stepped forward with her hand extended to Allison, smiling brightly, "Hello, I'm Pepper Potts. You must be Allison. It's so nice to meet you." A small wrinkle came to her brow, when she seemed to worry, "May I call you Allison, or do you prefer-"

Allison accepted the offered hand and smiled back, politely interrupting, "No. Allison is fine. Thank you. It's nice to meet you, too."

Ms. Potts took a step back, with a satisfied exhale and nod. "I'm so glad you could join us," she said. "Of course, this is your room." Pepper waved her free hand around to present the room. "I know it's not much," she excused, while Allison shook her head and snorted at apparently everyone else thinking the room with a view was anything less than impressive, "but I didn't know exactly what you needed or you'd like. If you don't like the colors or there's anoth-"

"No," Allison stopped her, with a polite smile and raise of her hand. "No, the room is great, as is, really. Thank you."

Pepper seemed relieved, tucking away the pen she'd pulled to start taking any notes or requests Allison may have. "Wonderful," she beamed. Ms. Potts gestured toward the kitchenette. "There's some snacks and drinks in the refrigerator. The kitchen downstairs is always well stocked. There's a chef available until midnight, daily. Just ask JARVIS to make any requests." She glanced at Clint to include him in the offer, "We had a late start for dinner today, but dessert will be up in just a few minutes, if you'd like to join us."

"Oh," Allison blinked, quickly debating. "No, thank you. I think I'd rather get settled in first."

With an understanding nod and thin smile, Pepper began to excuse herself. "Alright. Well, I'll leave you to relax for a bit then. But, please, join us when you're ready. And let me, or anyone else, know if there's anything you need. _Any_ thing at all."

"She comes through," Clint nodded, and Pepper shyly smiled at the compliment.

"Thank you. I will," Allison agreed.

Pepper left with a last parting smile, her ponytail swishing across the backs of her shoulders as she turned to go with a gentle touch of Clint's arm to say goodbye. He watched her leave, before turning back to Allison and figuring, "You're not coming down, are you?"

Allison gave a narrow shake of her head, letting out a slow exhale. "No, I don't think so."

With a disappointed frown, he asked, "How come?"

She gave her duffel bag a nudge away to sit on the end of the bench. Allison held her shoulders up for a long moment, settling on, "It's just...a lot's changed. I don't know that I'm feeling up to jumping into the deep end my first fifteen minutes out of jail for treason, ya know?"

Barton nodded, with a snort of amusement. "Maybe breakfast then," he suggested, walking over to give her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "My room's across the hall, 2 doors up. Nat's on your side, 3 over." Allison nodded her appreciation, as he was walking away. "You can go see him, whenever you want," he threw out, pausing at the door to look over his shoulder. "Probably wouldn't leave the building, though. Med's on 86. You know the way?"

"I know the way," she assured him.

Clint pulled the door shut behind him and the room was still. Allison took a slow look around, before standing. She pulled her bag along beside her, dragging it to the side of the bed nearer the dresser. Grabbing a handful of clothes from her duffel, Allison set them aside, unpacking and sorting the contents of her bag into piles. She was surprised to find the spare pieces of HYDRA uniforms she'd packed before leaving the bunker still there. She refolded the few pieces of civilian clothing she had and put them in one of the empty drawers and stuffed the uniforms back in the bag. There were a few of her toiletries, mixed in with her iPod and other miscellaneous items. She gathered those and took them to the bathroom, setting them up on the vanity.

The light wasn't as harsh in the large, marble bathroom as it was in her cell in the detention area. Allison paused, catching sight of her reflection in the mirror. Things didn't look so bad up here. The bruise on her jaw seemed like it might be starting to dissolve at the edges and the bags under her eyes looked less puffy, despite how exhausted she suddenly felt. She opened the taps and washed her hands, splashing some cool water on her face when she was done. Taking a slow, deep breath, Allison let her eyes close and the water drip from her face, her stiffened arms holding her up from the counter.

Looking back at her reflection, she shook her head, muttering to herself, "Now what?"

Aug 2013

"Fuck, it's hot," Mickelson complained, taking a sip off his canteen.

"Yyyep," Allison lazily agreed.

"Who volunteered us for this again?" Eric checked. "Because I'm gonna kill 'im."

Allison snickered from beneath the boonie hat pulled down over her face. "We were volun _told_ ," she reminded him. "And good luck with unemployment, if you try to kill Rumlow."

"More like, good luck with traction," he snorted.

Opening one eye to peek at him from her periphery, Allison smirked. She didn't mind the assignment. Not really. Part of her did enjoy the opportunity to be more involved with recruit training. It gave her a sense of pride to have helped weed out the candidates who wouldn't make it in STRIKE. She'd developed a sense of ownership about the division, an investment spurred on by the confidence, support, and trust of her colleagues, especially Brock, Eric, and Jack.

Beside her, Mick sat up, scanning the valley below with a pair of high powered binoculars. She waited to see if he had anything to report. When he put down the set of glasses and groaned, she didn't bother to ask if there was any sign of the new recruits yet. Allison tugged up the sleeve of her t-shirt again, rolling it back into place on top of her shoulder, before folding her arms back behind her head. Mick adjusted the camouflage netting over their rifles and the rest of their gear.

"If I don't get to kill someone today, after sweating my balls off since oh-what-the-fuck:30 on my weekend off..." Eric started to warn.

"Relax," she soothed him, with a chuckle. "You'll get your chance. They're gonna set up camp and, I guarantee, after 15 miles in this heat and terrain, fall out as soon as they finish chow. It'll be ducks on a pond."

"They're late," he griped. "Our team was camped a couple hours by now, when we did this course."

"Maybe they got lost," Allison quipped.

Mickelson reclined back into the dirt again, stretching out to mirror Allison, under the leafy shade of the Vietnam ridge they were staging on. She smiled at the unintelligible muttering Eric did, as he settled himself and yanked his hat down to cover his face in the humid evening sun. They were part of a last minute replacement to the staff. The 2nd squad operators from Alpha, who should have been helping to administer the jungle warfare exercise for the latest STRIKE recruit class, were recalled for a mission. Allison's squad should have been enjoying their first scheduled weekend off, until the Commander pointed a finger Echo 2's way, when no one actually volunteered to take Alpha's place. It probably didn't help their odds, when some joker in the room audibly promised, "Fuck that" to Rumlow's request for 8 volunteers to be the "enemy" for a weekend. Allison figured Brock must have seen the smart mouth moving from somewhere in the mix of her squad lumped together in the large briefing room with the other available fire teams and squads. Nobody had fessed up to the remark, and, if they were smart, they never would.

In their ears, the controller in the TOC did a roll call, running through the short list of "enemy" positions to check their statuses until he reached Allison and Eric at the end. "Voodoo 7 an' 8, out-fucking-standing," Mick unhappily replied.

"Roger that."

Allison chuckled at the hint of laughter in the controller's acknowledgement. "Go on, Mick, "she teased, "tell us how you really feel."

"That was as polite as I could make it," he shook his head. "Can't wait to retire."

"You want me to remind you exactly how many more years you got left?" she offered, with a mischievous curl in the side of her mouth.

"No, thank you," Eric grumbled, elbowing her in the ribs to keep her from doing it anyway.

"What would you do, anyway?" Allison wondered.

"When I retire?" he checked and Allison hummed her reply. "I dunno. ...S'pose I'd buy a boat. Maybe be a pirate." Allison couldn't contain her laughter and Mickelson chuckled along. "Nah," he changed his mind. "I'll probably be some bitter sonuvabitch shaking paint cans at Home Depot."

Allison hummed again, still amused. "I'm gonna put my vote in for pirate," she said.

"Noted," he told her, before kicking the side of his dusty boot into hers. "How 'bout you? Could use a bloodthirsty first mate to keep the crew in line."

"I'll keep that in mind," she nodded, tugging her hat a little lower to keep up with the sun's movement. Allison gave the question a little thought, finally settling on, "Well, if you're saying I have to live long enough to retire, and you're going to be a pirate or the world's most dangerous paint shaker...then I'm going to overthrow the leadership of a tropical island and live out my days on the beach."

"Good plan," Eric approved.

"And if that doesn't pan out," she shrugged, "I'm gonna drive to Home Depot everyday and rearrange all the color sample cards in the paint department."

"You'd never get away with it," he promised. "I'd stop you."

"You'd try," she playfully challenged. Allison turned her head to see him, ominously deciding, "And so begins the deadliest chess game ever played."

Mickelson reached over a hand for her to high five, smiling, "Can't fuckin' wait."


	62. Chapter 62

July 2015

It's strange what happens, when the fight is over; when time slows and you can breath again. It's strange, the thoughts that catch up and the ones that run through a mind; considering, replaying, doubting, and regretting. If you listen to the silence hard enough, you can hear the ghosts. If you sit still long enough, you can even feel the earth move. Alone in her new surroundings, Allison heard and felt it all.

She had tucked away her few belongings and felt a kind of uselessness settling in. In the bathroom, her fingers dragged behind her across the marble vanity, as she walked aimlessly. She stared at herself in the mirror, testing the dulling tenderness of her jaw, wondering what she was doing out of the cell downstairs. After a long look, Allison shook her head clear. She opened the taps of the soaking tub at the front of the unnecessarily large bathroom, stripped out of her clothes, gingerly pealed off the dressings on her wounds, and slipped into the hot bath as it filled.

With her head tilted back on the curved edge of the tub, Allison stared at the ceiling. She couldn't recall the last time she had the luxury of anything but a fast shower. She stayed there until she felt a chill at how much the water had cooled. Her fingertips were wrinkled and she had no sense of the time. Allison sank under the water, exhaling slowing until there was nothing in her lungs except the desperate ache to inhale. She sat up, smoothing her hair back and wiping her hands down her face. She flipped the drain open and stood up, stepping out of the water onto the warmed tile floor and wrapping herself up in the robe by the door. She twisted a towel around her hair and went back to the other room. She folded a leg underneath her and sat down on the side of the bed, looking out the giant windows over the city and feeling listless. 

She wasn't sure how long her attention had been directed outside, but her head snapped up and toward the door when there was a knock. Allison got up, tightening the knot in the belt around her waist and went to the door. She bowed her head to listen, hand on the door handle, as she asked who it was. 

"Natasha."

Allison opened the door, peering around the edge. On the other side, Romanoff flashed an awkward grin. In one hand, she held a plate with a giant wedge of a three layered chocolate cake. In the other, her fingers were twisted around a pair of beer bottles. She held up the alcohol.

"Can I come in?"

"Yeah," Allison quickly nodded, realizing it was rude to not have opened the door completely by now.

She stepped aside and the Russian came in. Allison shut the door and looked up to see Romanoff was putting everything on the table at the side of the room. She twisted off the cap of one bottle and set it down. Opening the other for herself, Natasha dropped into one of the armchairs at the table. Allison took the empty seat and Natasha pointed a finger into the side of the beer on the table to push it towards her.

"Thanks," Allison shyly grinned, unsure what else to say.

"Been awhile," Natasha observed, taking a sip of her drink.

"Since I had a beer?" Allison checked, picking up the bottle. "Not that long. A girls gotta live, right?"

The red head smiled into her drink and nodded. "No, I meant for you and me," she corrected. She gave Allison a good once over. "You've been busy."

A bit reluctantly, Allison nodded. "You could say that."

"But now you're back."

"Here I am," she shrugged.

Romanoff shook her head. "Where'd you go, Al?"

"Oh," she awkwardly smiled, "you haven't heard?"

"I heard plenty," she chuckled. "It's just a hell of a story."

Allison nodded her agreement. "Something like that." She considered she had a lot of apologizing to do to people and figured she should start as soon as possible, saying, "Natasha, about everything you've heard, it's not-"

Holding up a hand, the Russian cut her off. "I don't need to hear any apologies or excuses," she said. "You didn't do anything to me. Not really, anyway. Maybe we didn't tell each other everything, but I can see why." She smirked, ahead of her next drink. "I guess there's something to be said for you and me having a little mystery about us."

"I didn't see any other way," Allison admitted, still feeling the need to apologize.

"Can you even see one now?" she checked and Allison shook her head. "Why should you have to apologize? And for what? Shtupping the boss?"

Allison slapped a hand to her mouth, almost spitting out her beer, and Natasha chuckled at the near miss. "Fuck, Nat," she complained, checking herself to see if she'd made a mess.

"Pretty sure you already did," she smirked. "Can't say I blame you, either. Rumlow is-" Romanoff cocked up a playful eyebrow, as she considered her words. "Well, I'm sure you know better than anyone."

"Are you saying you and-"

"Oh, no," she assured her, with a confident shake of her head. "But you'd have to be the holiest of nuns to have been able to resist a look at him in the gym. That man always did look good in a uniform."

"I have no argument," Allison said, feeling her cheeks warm a little.

"Guess it was love, huh?" Natasha wondered. "Or, maybe, it still is. For all you just did."

Allison nodded. "For what it was," she agreed. 

"Everything changed, huh?" she noted. "He's not who he said he was."

"No," she shook her head in simultaneous agreement and disagreement.

Natasha gave her a discerning look, while Allison drank. "So, who is he?" she asked.

"Is that what you came here for?" Allison questioned, but Natasha didn't reply. Allison inhaled slowly, considering how to answer. "You never met him before," she decided.

It was the truest answer she could give. No one knew him the way she did. They never heard him whisper goodnight when one of them snuck into bed with the other, after getting home in the middle of the night from a mission. He never drove twenty miles to make sure their were croissants for lazy Sunday mornings for anyone else. He never cooked his grandmother's recipes for anyone else, never danced with them, or sat up with them in the dark when a nightmare wouldn't let them sleep again. He never looked at them the way he looked at her.

Natasha seemed to understand, bobbing her head as she hummed. It was quiet for a moment, before she spoke up again, asking, "You still love him, but do you trust him?"

"Does it matter to anyone but me?" 

" _I_ think it does," Romanoff nodded, reaching to the middle of the table to pick up one of the forks on the plate she had brought in. She cut off the point of the cake with her fork, adding, "You may be the one who knows him best. That counts for something, don't you think?"

"I know part of him is still the same man I knew," Allison considered. "And I know the risks he took to get me here. Should it matter that he used to work for HYDRA, or is what he did for me and the others more important?" Natasha thoughtfully nodded, as she ate. "The man I loved was a good man. He was loyal and he kept me safe. He'd do anything for me and he did. That's the Brock I know. That's the one I went back for. That's who I trust; the one I want to believe he is."

"Then that's who he is," Romanoff decided and Allison raised an incredulous eyebrow her way. "Look," Natasha began to explain, "Clint and I figure, no matter what Steve or Fury, or anyone else, says, you may be the only one who really knows anything about him. You're right, we never met him. We only saw the one side. But you? You saw a second and, one could argue, maybe a third side we never have.

"We'll never know," she admitted, licking a smudge of chocolate frosting from the back of her fork. "He was trained to beat all the tech, like the rest of us. The machines will never know if he's lying. It's all a matter of instincts. If you can believe him, it's something to consider."

"I don't know if I've spent enough time with him to know anymore," Allison conceded. "I only just found him again."

"Surprised you're up here instead of with him again," Natasha noted, "since you're free."

"Free?" she snorted. "Clint said I shouldn't leave the building."

The Russian grinned and nodded. "It'd probably go a long way for Steve if you didn't try and run away or wander off."

"I've got no place else to be," she shrugged.

"It's probably a little late for a visit, anyway," Natasha reasoned. She pointed with her fork to the television over her shoulder, adding, "But you can check in on him whenever you want. Just ask JARVIS to show you."

"Am I allowed to?" 

"Don't see why not," she shrugged. 

When she had looked in before, it was because someone else showed her. It was surprising to hear she could have access to the security feed at will, and it made her wonder, "So, anyone, in theory, could be watching him, at any given time?" Natasha nodded. "Have you been spying on me?"

"There's no cameras in here, if that's what you mean," she told her. "But when you were in holding? Yes, someone is always watching down there. And in Medical?" There was an almost imperceptible pause, before she admitted, "Yeah. For someone like him, yeah. And while you were with him. Waiting to see what he might say."

"And?" Allison led her on.

"And it was nothing that was any help to us," she shook her head. "When we've questioned him and listened in to him speaking with you, his story is consistent. But then, he wouldn't have gotten this far in all of this if he weren't smart. Maybe whatever he's said to you will help you."

Allison shrugged. "Thought I'd know by now."

"You'll figure it out," Romanoff nodded, digging in for another bite. 

"And in the meantime?" Allison carefully pressed.

"We'll keep trying to figure it, too," Natasha said. She handed Allison the other fork, inclining her head toward the dessert and quipping, "Come on, don't put this all on me. They were already being snarky about the size of the piece I cut."

Allison smiled and took the extra fork, shaving off a decorative dollop of icing from the end of the cake.  She eyed the frosting for a moment, asking, "And if you decide he can't be trusted? What happens to him then?"

"That's not my decision to make," she dodged. 

"Why'd you come up here, Nat?" Allison asked.

She finished swallowing the cake in her mouth, before answering, "I came to say hello." Her eyes meekly diverted from Allison's to the cake. "It's been a long time since I've seen my friend. She got in to a bit of trouble while she was away, and I wanted to make she was okay." She looked back up. "You okay?"

Allison nodded, licking the icing off her fork. "I'm okay. You?"

"I'm okay," she nodded.

When the cake and beer were gone, Natasha left. It was almost 11. Allison was ready for bed. She had taken her hair out of her towel, about the time the cake was half gone. She combed it out, before putting on some clothes to go to bed. Allison had just sat down on the side of the mattress when she wondered something and called for JARVIS.

"How may I be of assistance, Lt. Addams?"

She smirked for a moment, thinking about Barnes' reaction to the AI and sympathizing. "You can show me the camera feed from Brock Rumlow's room in the infirmary, right?"

"Correct, ma'am. Shall I cue the feed for you now?"

"No, not right now," she shook her head, thinking to herself. "Is there anyway you could tell me when he has visitors that aren't part of the medical staff, or if he's moved anywhere?"

"Of course."

It was a little unusual, but she felt compelled to say, "Thank you."

"You're welcome," the pleasant computer replied. "Will there be anything else?"

"No," Allison said, sliding under the covers and settling into bed.

"Very well. Goodnight, Lt. Addams."

Allison snorted, unsure if she should have responded. Interacting with JARVIS would take some getting used to. Allison reached over and clicked off the lamp on the bedside table. She nuzzled back into her pillow. The room was quiet and the bed was comfortable. She was already thinking ahead to the next day. She talked herself out of setting an alarm, figuring she could use a good night's sleep. Whenever she woke up, she'd brave the common area downstairs to see about breakfast before going to see Brock. Beyond that, she wasn't sure what to plan for. 

The next morning, Allison didn't sleep in. She was still hardwired in to the early rise she was used to from when she was alone in the bunker and she and Barnes were still on their crusade. It wasn't all that different from the routine she'd been on for years when she worked for SHIELD. Somethings, it seemed, would never change.

Allison dressed and knotted her hair up behind her. Before she stepped out of her room, she took a curious look up and down the hallway. The rising morning sun was beginning to overpower the lights inside and shine down the dark, polished marble floor. Pulling the door shut behind her, Allison turned for the stairs at the end of the hall. Ahead of her, she could smell coffee. Descending the staircase to the common area of the floor below, Allison breathed deep, steeling herself against the weight she felt from every pair of eyes instantly settling on her. The awkward silence followed her across the open floor to the kitchen.

From his barstool at the high kitchen counter, Barnes offered a quiet, "Mornin', doll."

Allison replied with a polite grin and nod. She grabbed an empty mug from the tray near the coffee maker and glanced over her shoulder at hearing a chair scoot on the floor. Clint stood up from his seat at the table, rounding the counter with his empty plate in one hand and a coffee mug in the other. She picked up the carafe off the burner, pouring herself some coffee, while Barton set his plate into the sink beside her.

He nudged her elbow with his, holding out his cup to her. "Day doesn't start 'til the fourth cup," he winked.

"Some things haven't changed," she smiled, filling his mug.

Barton flashed her an innocent smile and shrugged. Before she put the coffee pot down, Allison turned to Barnes, giving the carafe a small raise to ask if he needed more. Without a word, the Sergeant stretched out his arm to meet her halfway with his cup. Allison topped off his drink and put the pot back on the burner. She added some cream and sugar to her mug, the sound of the spoon scraping and dinging against the ceramic seeming to be the only sound in the large space. The quiet was unnerving behind her, but Allison kept her back to the room, taking a taste of her drink.

"Is that it? Are we done talking?" Allison recognized Stark's voice. "It's like someone just died."

"Actually," Natasha began to differ, "shouldn't we all be happy to have some friends back from the dead?"

Allison didn't have to look to see who stood up from the next chair she heard move. With her hands wrapped tightly around her mug in front of her, Allison closed her eyes and exhaled, hearing Steve grumble, "Not in the mood, Natasha."

The sound of foot steps carried away and up the stairs. Allison opened her eyes again, when they were gone. She took another sip of coffee and Barton put his hand on her shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. He started to make come feeble apology for Rogers, but she cut him off before he could really begin.

"It's okay," she nodded, setting down her coffee. "I don't blame him."

"You hungry?" Clint checked, tipping his head to the covered serving dishes down the counter. "Lemme get you a plate."

Barton was already stepping around her, as she shook her head. "I think it's better if I ju-"

"Have some breakfast," Barnes gently insisted. "Don't worry about him."

Clint reached out, holding a clean plate for her to take. With a weak, but appreciative, grin, Allison took the plate and stepped down the counter to where Barton was opening lids for her to choose from. Allison fixed herself some eggs and bacon, although she didn't have much of an appetite anymore. She took the seat at the end of the counter down from Barnes.  

Barton covered the dishes again and picked up his latest cup of coffee. He took the seat next to Allison, quietly sipping his coffee while she ate. A little noise had returned to the air, as others took up the forks again to resume eating. She didn't look when Wilson got up and said he was going to check on Steve. From the corner of her eye, she watched him leave his dishes in the sink and head upstairs. 

"You know," Tony began, "I, for one, love these awkward family meals. Keeps things interesting."

"Tony," Romanoff plaintively whined.

Allison pushed back her plate and excused herself. Clint's hand was at her wrist, before she could finish standing. His expression asked her to stay and she looked up at seeing Barnes straighten his posture in her periphery. Allison patted a hand over Barton's, giving him a kind, but weak, smile.

"Kate," the Sergeant frowned. "Sit down."

"Who's Kate?" Stark leaned in to ask Romanoff.

Natasha sighed, dropping her forehead into her hand, and Barnes added a soft, "Please."

She slipped Clint's reassuring hold of her arm and picked up her coffee with her other hand, smiling, "No, really, I'm not-" Allison's smile flinched, as she changed directions. "I'm just gonna go upstairs, for a little while."

Allison waved off the concerned invitations for her to stay, as she headed back for the stairs. On her way up to her room, she heard the conversation start up again from Natasha. She only caught a few thoughts from the group, before she was out of earshot.

"This isn't going to work, if Steve keeps-"

"Was it ever going to work?" Stark wondered, his tone sounding innocent enough.

"It deserves a chance," Barton chimed in. " _She_ deserves a chance."


	63. Chapter 63

In her room, Allison took her coffee to the bed, sitting cross legged on the mattress to see the view outside. She watched the cars on the bridge and the boats on the river, until her coffee was gone. The few bites of food she'd had weren't holding her over and she went to the small kitchenette in the corner of her room. There was a basket of fruit on the counter. A welcome gift of sorts from Pepper, she figured. She picked out an orange and moved to one of the arm chairs at the table. Pulling her heels up on the chair, Allison began peeling the fruit, with a small sigh. Breakfast had gone just about as well as she figured it would. Maybe she'd feel more comfortable at lunch. But then, maybe she could make the fruit and snacks in her room last a couple of days. 

She was a little startled by the unexpected greeting from JARVIS. "Good morning, Lt. Addams."

Allison picked up the piece of orange peel she'd dropped in her lap when she flinched, shaking her head at herself. "Good morning."

"Pardon the interruption," he began, "but you asked to be informed when-"

"Yes, of course," she perked up, putting her feet back on the floor.

She asked JARVIS to show her and the television screen in her room came to life. Allison put aside her orange to watch. Rumlow was seated in a chair on the far side of the table in the center of an interrogation room. He wasn't shackled to the table, like Allison had been. His injured shoulder prevented it and she was grateful they didn't do it anyway just to spite or punish him. There were armed guards posted in the corners of the room to keep him in line, though.

The metal clank of the door locks releasing was heard and it drew Allison's attention to the side of the screen. She watched Barnes walk into the room and stop a few steps in. He set his gaze on Rumlow and Brock stared back. It was quiet for a tense minute, before Barnes stepped forward and took the empty seat across from Rumlow.

"Nice setup you got here," Brock snorted, his head ticking back in amusement. "I see you're getting along pretty well for yourself, without HYDRA. Been awhile since we really talked. The last time you were thinking for yourself, in that vault, you didn’t look so good."

A malicious sneer pulled Barnes’ mouth aside and he launched up from his seat over the table, grabbing Rumlow by the shirt to jerk him to his feet. "The only reason you’re still alive is her,” he growled.

Rumlow’s uninjured hand had wrapped over the metal wrist under his chin. He stared back at Barnes, his own expression just as hard and unyielding. “The only reason _you’re_ still alive is her,” Brock reminded him.

The Soldier blinked, slowly loosing his grip of Brock’s shirt and letting him sink back into his chair. Barnes straightened up, taking a step back from the table and glaring back at Rumlow. The soldiers in the room had flinched, taking aim at Rumlow when Barnes snapped. The men were slow to relax and lower their weapons again.

“Looks like we got something in common,” Rumlow smirked, with a subtle jut of his chin at Barnes.

Allison became aware of how high her pulse had risen, watching Barnes go after Brock. She swallowed hard and inhaled deeply. This was a bad idea.

"We've got nothing in common," Barnes shook his head, taking his seat again.

"Come on, now," Rumlow invited, resting back comfortably in his chair, as if nothing had happened. "We're both soldiers; both professionals. Loyal." Barnes raised his chin, inhaling at the comparison. "And, I'm willing to bet," Brock added, his face falling into an angry scowl, "both interested in the same girl."

Barnes leveled his gaze, but didn't speak. Allison saw his slow exhale, as her own breath hitched.

"That's what I thought," Rumlow sneered, smugly. "You almost got her killed, you selfish son of a bitch." He quirked up an arrogant brow, cocking his head. "You proud 'a that?"

"Kill her? You must be mistaken," Barnes swept his head. "You're HYDRA, not me."

Brock folded his arm onto the edge of the table, leaning in, seething, "Everything I did kept her safe." He jabbed a hateful finger toward Barnes. "And you- _Y_ _ou_ took her to war with you."

"She was already on her own campaign," Barnes pointed out. "She's not as helpless as you think."

"Don't talk to me about what she is," Rumlow snarled, pointing again. "I was there. I helped make her."

"Yeah," the Soldier scoffed. "You got a helluva record with people you build. How long did it take to brainwash her?"

"Watch your mouth, son," Brock evenly warned, settling into the chair back again, his relaxed posture an unnerving punctuation to his words. "You don't have enough men and guns in this room to stop me."

Barnes tilted his head back, looking down his nose at Rumlow. "You're not in any position to make threats," he reminded him. "Not anymore."

Rumlow shrugged, with an indifferent roll of his hand on the table. "You know I don't make threats. ...But I keep promises." He gave the Soldier a once over. "The fuck d'you come in here for, anyway? What'd you think you'd get out 'a seein' me? Feeling sentimental?"

"Fuck you," Barnes bit.

His brow wagged up, looking amused, as he repeated, "Fuck you?" He shook his head once. "I expected more out of you," Rumlow smiled, "all things considered."

"Like I said," he began, "she's the reason you're still alive."

"Must eat you up," Brock decided, looking him over. "Knowing you got so close; that I'm the last one."

"You have no idea," Barnes hissed.

"Believe me," Rumlow assured him, "I know." There was a brief silence, as the men sized each other up, before Brock spoke again. "You waited a long time for this," he noted. "Now, here we are. There's literally nothing stopping you from tearing me apart." He gestured to the sling cradling his wounded arm. "Safe to say, you have an advantage." His eyes walked around the room. "You've got your boys here, ready to cut me down if I breathe wrong. But...here we are. You on your side of the table and me on mine, both of us still alive."

"You owe her a lot," Barnes conceded, the tension still in his voice and his jaw firmly set.

"You have no idea," Brock told him. "That girl saved my life, in more ways than even she'll ever know. I owe her everything."

With a slow nod from Barnes, he realized, "And that's why you're still dangerous."

"You always were a fast learner," Rumlow smirked. "You know, I always liked that about you. Made my job easy. Made working with you a pleasure." The Soldier bristled at the remarks, his jaw working against itself. "Easy there, big guy. I think you're getting the wrong impression. I'm just sayin', we both had jobs to do."

"You had a job," Barnes countered. "I was a prisoner."

Rumlow nodded, with an accepting shrug. "That's true. But, still, believe it or not, it was a privilege." Barnes snorted in derision. "Fuckin' Bucky Barnes," Brock marveled, going on. "Steve Rogers' right hand man. You think there wasn't something to be admired by some of us? We all knew. Just, some of us might have respected the position more than others."

"Respect? Is that what that was?" Barnes angrily wondered.

"As much as could be given," he shrugged, "yeah." Brock gestured a hand out, adding, "She says you remember. But, do you remember everything?"

"I remember enough," the Soldier said, through grit teeth.

Rumlow leaned forward again. "Then you think long and hard about me," he challenged, his voice firm and insistent. "You think about them and all the shit you went through, and then you come back and you say to my face that you weren't given any god damn respect. Tell me that no one ever tried to do right by Bucky Barnes. You think about the side of that mountain in Lom; about my last visit to Siberia. Maybe remember something about Bardai." There was a subtle tip of Barnes' head, as he listened, and Allison wasn't the only one who saw. "Yeah," Brock nodded, resting back. "Yeah, there it is. What is it? ...Is itLom? Is it Dr. Yates?" He continued to nod, slowly. "Think about it. Read those files she has. Then you come back here and say it. In the meantime, I assume we're done here."

For a long moment, Barnes said nothing. He just gave Rumlow a hard stare. The Sergeant pushed back from the table to stand, turning to go. A pair of guards in the room shifted, readying to escort Brock out of the room. They moved to either side of him, putting a hand on each arm as Brock stood.

"I need you to do something for me," Rumlow said after the Sergeant. Barnes turned around, giving Brock an indignant look as Brock smirked, nodding to himself and adding, "Yeah, I know. You don't owe me anything...but you do to her." Barnes' expression softened slightly, seeming to signal Brock to go on. "I'm not stupid," he continued. "I know I'm never gonna breathe fresh air again. If she stays here, she needs someone to watch her back."

"She's safe here," Barnes assured him.

"Rogers isn't the same man he was when you knew him," Brock told him, "and he's not the same man since DC. He doesn't trust her anymore."

"Steve would never-"

"A lot's changed in 70-odd years, Sergeant," Rumlow assured him. "He's too angry to see that she was never the problem. She never betrayed SHIELD or him. She was doing her job. She didn't know any better."

"You really think he would hurt her?" Barnes tiredly doubted.

"I don't know what he'd do," Brock admitted. "But I know what he did to her once, and I know he still blames her for things. He thinks that she lied to him; that she betrayed him and her country. It's going to take him a long time to get around that, if he even can." He nodded once to the Soldier. "Someone has to keep an eye on that. You need to take care of her for me."

Barnes considered him for a long moment. "I'm not doing anything for you," he decided, with a sweep of his head. "...I'm doing it for her."

Rumlow nodded again, apparently satisfied by the answer, telling him, "That's all I need to hear."

Allison asked JARVIS to cut off the feed, when Barnes left the room and the security detail stepped up to transfer Brock back to his room. She sat there, for a long moment, eyes still fixed on the blank screen. The conversation stuck with her, for a few reasons. Her curiosity was piqued by the way Barnes had responded to Brock's suggestions about things the Soldier and he shared in the past. She wondered how much more there was between them that wasn't in the files she'd read; that only the two of them would know.

She thought about Rumlow's assessment of Rogers. Allison considered maybe she had more reasons to be concerned about what joining the Avengers team would mean for her. He was right about how Capt. Rogers had changed. She had never had to consider before what being on Steve Rogers' bad side might mean, but she was seeing it now. Maybe her safety wasn't just tied up in running missions again. Allison shook the thought that she had anything to fear from her former friend from her head. She didn't want to face the reality. Not yet.

She stood up, letting out a long, heavy exhale as she walked across the room to look out over her view. Her arms crossed themselves tightly across her chest, subconsciously protective. The peeks of traffic through slits in the skyline across the river, birds passing, and boats on the water, and life in general continuing on around her eventually distracted her from her thoughts and sense of time. It was the knock on her door that brought her around.

When the voice on the other side of the door answered that it was "Bucky", Allison cocked her head, thoughtfully. He'd never used the word so casually and the sound of it tugged a small grin into the side of her mouth, before she opened the door. Barnes had been looking at the floor and his eyes flicked up to hers when the door opened wide enough to see her.

"Can I come in?" he checked, with a limp point of his finger toward the room behind her.

Allison nodded, stepping back to let him pass. He walked into the room, his gaze panning over his surroundings and hands in his pockets, while she shut the door. He flashed her a grin and Allison waved a hand toward the chairs at the table, inviting him to sit. They sat at the table and he looked like he had something on his mind, but he spoke up before she could ask about it.

"You been up here since breakfast?" he wondered, a discerning wrinkle in his brow.

"Yeah," she admitted, with a small shrug.

"You shouldn't have let him run you off like that," he told her.

Allison drew in and let out a breath. "He didn't," she said. "I just-" She shook her head, asserting, "Whatever. I get it. It's fine."

"He'll get over it," Barnes promised. "He just needs a little time."

"You really believe that?" she had to ask.

He nodded, but didn't speak for a moment. "I think a lots happened in just a few days. I think we all got some stuff to get used to." Barnes set his eyes on hers. "Are you staying?"

She didn't have an answer ready, and the twitch in the corner of his eye told her she needed one fast. But all she could do was shake her head and admit, "I don't know." He gave a solemn nod, his gaze drifting down to the table between them, as she went on, "There's a lot I still don't know. About what happens now; to Brock, to me." She nodded. "You're right. A lot has happened. People changed. I don't know what's best for me or anyone else anymore...if I ever knew. But I see how I'm upsetting things. And I know when I'm not welcome."

His head rose with the breath he inhaled, and Barnes reasoned, "But you won't leave. Not yet. Not without him."

Allison agreed, with a small nod. "He's the only thing that hasn't changed."

"What about the job offer?" he asked.

She shrugged and shook her head. "It's not just a job offer, is it?" Allison conceded. "I stay here and join the team, keep fighting; keep hedging my bets against my life. What's that get me? I put on that uniform and my last step might be my first one off the plane." She shook her head, her eyes drifting down to her hands in her lap, as she considered, "When does my luck run out? How much of me does the job get and how much is left for me? What else could I do with a second chance?"

"What do you want, doll?" he wondered. "A minivan and a house in the suburbs?"

"Is that so crazy?" she checked, raising her hands to the room. "Compared to this?" Allison looked at him again. "You've got a second chance, right now. What are you gonna do with it?"

"I'm gonna fight," he decided. "I'm gonna stay and I'm gonna fight and take care of my friends."

Rumlow's request of Barnes came back to her and she swept her head. "And if you had to risk one friend for the other? How do you choose?"

"I-" He stopped, with a confused tilt of is head. "What are you getting at?"

"I know what Brock asked you to do," Allison somberly nodded. "You just got Steve back. He just got you back. I know how much it means to him to have you. I don't want any part of taking that away from him again. Steve needs you more than it's worth to look after me."

"I don't think I need to look after you like that," he told her.

"Look," she began, settling her elbows onto her knees, "soon, there's gonna come a time when somebody makes you pick a side." Allison knew now. "Whether you want to believe it or not, Rogers cut me out a long time ago. I've been dead to him since DC. Brock's right, and I think you know it. If you didn't, you wouldn't have agreed to keep an eye on me. ...For the good of all of you, I can't stay here."


	64. Chapter 64

July 2015

"Where will you go?" Barnes asked, a sudden worry underlying his words. "What'll you do?"

"I don't know," she confessed. Truthfully, she hadn't thought that far ahead. She'd only just now made her decision that it would be in everyone's best interest not to join the Avengers team. "I'll figure it out as I go. I'm pretty good at that, it seems."

"Kate, slow down a second," he urged, not catching his mistake, while Allison realized he seemed to fall back on the way he first knew her when the situation was getting tense or uncomfortable. "Maybe you're not thinking this through. Look at what you've got here." He reached a hand behind him toward the door. "There's people here besides Steve. Barton and Romanoff. I've heard them. They're your friends. They're on your side." Barnes pulled his hand back to touch his fingers to his chest. "And me. I'm stayin'. Part of the reason is you. I figured you'd be here. We're supposed to be partners, remember?"

Allison shook her head. "You said so yourself, a lot's changed in the last few days. I've been put in chains and caged more times in the last couple of weeks than any good person should ever be in their life. I've watched friends and good men die. I have just as many enemies as I may have friends left here, and the one in charge of it all would sooner see me hung for treason that trust me to help him. You said SHIELD was a pipe dream? Well, me fitting in to the Avengers was a fantasy, at best."

"You've got more here than you think," he insisted. "They need you; someone with your skills, your instincts. And you need them." Allison could barely huff her skepticism before he pressed on. "I've never seen you without a mission; a plan. I think you need that. It drives you. You couldn't have done anything; couldn't have had the career you did, if that weren't true. You say you don't know what you'll do if you leave? You never will. Nothing will ever satisfy you. It's not just a part of you. It's your life, and you know it. People like you an' me, this is what we're made for. We're soldiers. People like you an' me...we die without it."

When she didn't have a fast argument, he kept going. "Besides," he said, leaning forward to rest on his knees, mirroring her, "we both know you won't leave without him. ...What'll you do, if they don't let him go?" Allison turned her head to look at him. "You gonna break him out like you did me? Be a fugitive? You ready to live like a real criminal; always on the run, hiding? Believe me, it's not as easy as it sounds." She looked away again, and he seemed to reconsider, "But, I guess, if anyone could make it work, it'd be you." She gave his offhanded compliment a soft snort, in spite of herself. "I just don't wanna have to chase you."

After a moment, she quietly realized, "I'm tired of running."

"Then don't," Barnes urged. "Fury's bringing you back from the dead. You've got as much of your old life back, here, as you'll ever find out there on your own. You stay here," he offered, "and we can make this work. You'll be closer to him; have the access, no matter what happens. And we can still finish what we started."

"I can't convince Rogers to trust me," she knew.

"It'll take time," he reasoned. "But we've got it, now." Barnes nodded to himself. "I know we haven't known each other very long and you an' me have had our differences. I'm sorry for the stunts I pulled back at the bunker. If there'd been any sign that you and- him...were- I'm sorry. ...If you're gonna leave, I don't want it to be with any misunderstandings from me. And if you're gonna stay, same thing goes. I just want you to know, that you've got one friend here that, I guarantee, you'll never have to try to convince who you are. And I'm hopin' it's enough to let you give it a shot."

Barnes stood up, reaching to give her shoulder a squeeze. Allison's gaze fell back to the floor in front of her and she gave him a subtle nod. From the side of her eye, she saw him move away towards the door.

He stopped, with his hand just shy of the handle, turning to see her over his shoulder and check, "You know I told him I'd look out for you? You know anything else we said?"

Allison's eyes flicked over to the tv on the wall and then back to him, saying, "Saw it all."

He gave a small nod of understanding. "I don't know what he's talking about," he hesitantly admitted. "The names and places- Some of it sounds familiar...but I don't remember everything. I want to know what he's talking about."

Allison nodded. "Yeah. Me, too."

"Maybe you could stick around long enough to help me with that?" he carefully offered.

"Yeah," she agreed. "I could try."

May 2014

Brock groaned, tiredly, hooking his chin over her shoulder and snaking his arms around her waist. Allison smiled at the familiar scent of his cologne and the soft scratch of his stubble on her skin, layering her arms over his and leaning back against him. She turned to peck a kiss to his cheek.

"You know, that guy over at the bar has slept with two out 'a the five bridesmaids?" he mused, ticking his eyes over to the tuxedoed man and wagging up his brow for her to follow his gaze. "He's hoping for the hat trick tonight."

"Oh, yeah," she rolled her eyes. "Fuckin' Rob. What a douche."

Rumlow chuckled, agreeing, "Yeah, I picked up on that." He cocked his head, nibbling a kiss into the curve of her neck. "I'd 'a punched him in the damn throat, just to get him to shut up."

"How'd you get away?" Allison wondered.

"I told him I was gonna punch him in the god damn throat if he kept talking," he nonchalantly shrugged, giving her another kiss.

Allison couldn't help but laugh, giving his arm a playful pinch. "You didn't," she only halfheartedly scolded him.

"It worked, didn't it?" he smirked.

"Indeed," she nodded.

"You 'bout ready to get out of here?" Rumlow checked.

Allison hummed, tipping her head to his, pouting a little at the thought of leaving. She didn't see much of her friends. Work kept her from accepting invitations to nights out, sometimes. No one ever complained, though. They knew government work was hectic, especially working for an agency like SHIELD. They didn't know any better to suspect an analyst's job shouldn't keep such odd hours and she always trivialized the life of a Language Officer when conversations turned to work. But, at the wedding reception of one of her oldest friends, everyone had forgotten about work and Allison had been able to just be herself. 

Brock had met some of her friends, over time, here and there when a group had gotten together for drinks or a birthday. She'd told everyone he was an investment banker and he was clever enough to bullhsit along. It wasn't too much of a stretch. Rumlow had always been wise with his investments. Keeping an eye on markets and knowing what he knew about the goings on in the world through work actually worked out well for his finances and lent itself well to the cover. Her girlfriends thought he was charming and handsome and he drank their significant others under the bar. Of course they'd like him. With him smiling, warmly, at her, Allison realized this was as close to a normal night together they'd had in a long time and she was reluctant for it to be ending. They'd been so busy lately.

"It's late," he gently pointed out. "Party's winding down."

"I know," she admitted.

Rumlow gave her a squeeze, to make her grin. "It was a good night," he told her. "You saw your friends, had some laughs, got a weekend out of town." Brock held her close to him, adding a sway to his hold of her to the music. "You danced, you drank-"

"I had cake," Allison happily added.

"There was cake," he agreed, with a chuckle. 

" _Good_ cake," she emphasized and he smiled another kiss down onto her shoulder. Allison let out a contented sigh. She twisted around in his arms to face him, lacing her fingers together behind his neck. "It was a good night."

She slipped her arms around his neck, nestling onto his shoulder, while they danced in their little space on the side of the room and he offered, "It's not too late, ya know."

"For what?" she asked, lifting her chin to see him and pulling a hand back to scratch her fingernails lazily through the back of his hair.

"For this," he said, tipping his head to reference the party around them. "You 'n me, we could run the world."

A soft heat came to her cheeks and she bowed her head to hide, resting her forehead against his shoulder. She shook her head there, reminding him, "We're not allowed." Allison turned her face back up to see him patiently smiling at her. "There are rules, Commander," she stressed, with a playful tug at his tie.

"Oo, I like it when you're all business," he growled, peppering her neck with kisses.

"Be serious," she scolded him, trying not to smile, but failing.

"Never more serious in my _life_ ," he promised, "than I am with you."

"You can't even say that without a smile," she pointed out.

Brock's face sobered in an instant, telling her again, "In my life, sweetheart."

With a discerning squint in one eye, Allison decided, with a nod, "Yeah, you got it bad." She tutted. "You poor bastard."

"What d'ya say?" he wondered, with a fond smile in the side of his lips. "We buy a house in the suburbs, get a dog, maybe a couple 'a kids in the yard..."

"The suburbs, huh?" Allison mused. "You grew up in the Bronx. Your townhouse has a landscaper. Have you ever even mowed a yard in your life?"

"Yeah," Rumlow indignantly scowled, "smartass, I have. The landlord of my first apartment, nice guy, Vietnam vet; had some trouble with his knee and back after a helo crash. I used to take care of the yard; help him out around the building, while I was there."

"Handier than I thought," she smiled.

"You have no idea," he growled, with a lascivious smile.

Allison snickered and his smile broke open, chuckling. "Sounds like the open bar talking," Allison shook her head.

"Wish I _was_ drunk," he conceded. "Maybe it wouldn't be so insulting that you think I'm kidding."

"Brock," she began to apologize, her head tipping down, a little ashamed for not treating the conversation with the same seriousness he was.

Rumlow stopped their sway to the music, his fingertips turning her chin back up to him and his eyes setting on hers. "We've been doing this, what, almost four years now? Let me show you that place in Thailand," he almost begged. "I know some people to pull some strings and move the paperwork through. You put in notice that you'll be traveling for a few days, to avoid any recalls, and you meet me there when we both end the next rotation. 15 days from now, I can show you that beach I've been promising you."

"And then what?" she doubted. "We just go home and pretend it didn't happen? We just quit and disappear?"

"We do whatever you wanna do," he promised. "You wanna stay? We stay. You want to get out? We get out." 

"It's that easy, huh?" she grinned shyly.

Rumlow's head thoughtfully cocked, before he admitted, "Maybe there's one or two things we'll have to work out, but we can do anything, as long as we're together."

"And what would we do for a living?" she wondered. "Get a couple of 9-5 straight jobs and pretend we didn't know a thousand ways to kill a man?"

"Now you're just being sassy," he playfully scolded, before he smiled with a knowing nod. "We've both got plenty of money to get by on. There's always contractor or trainer work overseas, if you wanna stay sharp. I know some guys in the Presidential Guard in Abu Dhabi, old SEAL buddies. It's a sweet gig. Pull down 'bout a quarter mill a year tax free, housing and transpo paid for. Hell, even school for their kids." He shrugged. "If you can put up with all the condescending bullshit. Point is, whatever you want to do, it's out there. We'll make it happen. But, Addy," he paused and swept his head. "We're running out of time, kid," he earnestly told her. "A job like this tears ya down. We get old fast and don't usually live long. Maybe it's time to enjoy life while we can."  

"15 days?" Allison considered, lost in the sincerity of his loving gaze, when he nodded.

"Can't think of a better time," he figured, with a warm grin. "Marry me, Addy."

There was a flutter in her belly and she bit her lower lip. Feeling her heart racing in her chest, Allison nodded.

His brow pinched up, as hopeful as he was hesitant, when he checked, "You sure?" Allison nodded again and he carefully pressed, "Will you marry me? Let me hear you say it."

"Yes," she smiled, barely able to finish the word before his lips crashed into hers.


	65. Chapter 65

May 2013

The quiet shush of dirt and rock scuffing down the face of the ridge under boot heels didn't disturb her. Her eyes were fixed on the green shapes below. The noises behind her were friendly, and, in the chill of the Afghan mountain air at night, she welcomed the company.

"How's it lookin'?" Brock asked, quietly, taking a knee to crouch low in the moonlit shadows beside her.

"Not yet," she told him, the shake of her head enough to be seen, but not enough to lose sight of the men walking in the view of her high powered monocular. "Still missing Al-Fulani."

"Jesus," Rumlow griped, checking his watch in the hint of moonlight. "49 minutes overdue. This guy'd be late for his own funeral."

"He already is," Allison smirked, her lips pulling back into a proud grin at the snort of amusement her correction earned from him.

Rumlow shifted, turning on a knee to glance up at the ridge behind them. "You good?" he checked. "I can send Shuster down, let you get something to eat."

"I'm good," she assured him, tipping her thumb blindly to the empty plastic pouch on the ground beside her nest. "Brought snacks."

"Alright," he nodded. "Get me on comms if you-"

"I'm good, Boss," Allison softly insisted, taking her eye way from her watch to send him a look up over her shoulder. "Really."

Rumlow checked the ridge again, before turning his attention down to her, "This is your first run since going back online," he reminded her, his voice taking on an even lower tone, assuring privacy. "I just want to make sure-"

"I know," she interrupted, "and I appreciate it, but, really, I got this."

"Shuster said he came down for relief and you waved him off," Rumlow noted.

"I slept on the jet," Allison shrugged, "he didn't. He could use a longer break."

"You're a real pain in my ass sometimes," he told her. "You know that?"

"I'm good here," she persisted, "gimme a little credit." Brock turned to climb back up the slope and Allison let out an aggravated sigh, muttering, "Just let me do my job."

"I am," he unhappily pointed out, stopping to kneel down again. "Let me do mine."

"What are you doing here, anyway?" she finally dared to ask. "This is Echo's op. There's no Delta tag along needed."

"You know it's part of procedure," he reminded her, the impatience building in his tone.

"Where in the book does it say you have to oversee this personally?" she prodded, shifting her angle to track a target's walk to a vehicle. "Since when does the Division Commander slum it on Field Reassessments?"

"You think I wouldn't rather be back in DC reading the report on this, instead of freezing my nuts off on this fucking mountain taking notes?" he quietly spat. "And I'm _slummin_ ' it because the other three team leaders trained for these evaluations are all tied up on their own shit. So, don't get all pissy with me, trying to bust my balls thinking you're getting some kind of special treatment."

"This is fuckin' ridiculous," she grumbled.

"What's ridiculous is you bullshitting your way off the Farm after I told you not to play games with them," he countered. "There are rules, Addy, and I can only bend them so much for you. I already covered for you in the Fit For Duty assessments. You did 18 days captive. That's more than enough to fuck with anybody, but you came back. Don't fuck this up now by pushing shit when you don't have to." He pointed up over his shoulder. "There's eleven other guys up on that ridge who've had a hot meal and a good six hours. You have to prove you're ready to be here to me, not them. Being uncooperative and having a shitty attitude with your observer is not winnin' you any extra points here, kid.

"For once, Addy, do me a favor, and play this one straight. You're almost done. Get through this last assessment, and you have your fire team back and you're on your own again. Can you do that?"

"Fine," she reluctantly sighed.

Brock held out his open hand. "Gimme that," he instructed, gesturing for her to surrender the gear for the position. When she relented, passing off the night vision monocular and pushing herself up off the ground, he added, "Get your ass up the hill and get something hot to eat. Send Shuster down to take post."

"Yes, Sir," she nodded, her disappointment sounding in her voice.

Rumlow was flattening himself out prone and settling into his temporary watch, when he threw a look over his shoulder at her as she made a small stretch, readying to make the short climb up. "This won't be the last assessment anyone makes of you, you know," he mentioned. "After what you've been through, they're always gonna want to check back to see you handled it and nothing's triggered or broke you down. They'll watch you and go over all the After Action Reports to look for cracks in the armor."

Allison nodded. "I know."

"If you ever think, for even a second," he began, "that something isn't right, you tell me before it gets outta hand, alright?"

"I will," she promised.

"No lies, Addy," he insisted. "Not to me."

"Not to you," she assured him.

Brock flashed her a quick, but warm, smile. "Go on. I'll see you up top in a few."

July 2015

Allison was getting by without pain medication, but she still had the stitches and staples to mind. When she lightly scratched at an itch on her upper arm, she realized she hadn't bothered to get fresh dressings to replace what she'd taken off the night before. She checked the bathroom, but there wasn't anything she needed or could make use of. After Barnes had left, Allison had decided to see Brock. She might as well stop by and have one of the medical staff check her wounds while she was there.

Her injuries were still healing well. A nurse dressed her wounds again and told Allison it would be a few more days before the stitches and the staples could be removed. When she was finished with her visit, Allison thanked the nurse and left to go to Brock's room. He was out of bed, looking out the window over Manhattan, when she came in. He gave her a warm smile, as she crossed the room to hug him.

Slipping her arms around his neck, Allison offered a sweet "good morning" and he hooked his arm around her waist. "How're you feeling?" she asked, straightening up to step back and see him.

"Stay right here," he whispered, cinching his arm around her a little tighter to keep her close. "There's some things I need to tell you, but just you."

Allison moved her arms back up and nodded. "Okay," she softly agreed.

It occurred to her that the way they were standing afforded no view or reflections for the cameras in the rooms to capture his lips moving. As close as they were, surveillance equipment might not even be able to pick up audio, if he spoke low enough. It was an easy way to communicate, if there was a romantic cover implied. She'd used it before, with Rollins in a hotel garden  and one night in Dubai with a Mossad agent SHIELD was tracking a target with. It was an old trick, but it worked. Brock turned his lips to her ear and she subtly tilted her head to listen. 

"Don't ask me any questions," he told her, his voice as hushed as it could be. "Just listen." She nodded, despite her curiosity, and he went on. "I want you to hear this from me, before the docs here figure it out. No more secrets, right?" Allison nodded once. "I'm okay, Addy," he told her. "This sling, these bandages? I don't need them anymore. I've been trying to keep them away, refusing treatment. They think I'm just being an asshole, but the truth is, these doctors are probably another blood draw away from finding out I got a little of the serum in me."

She shook her head, not understanding. "Shh," he insisted, to keep her still, sweeping his thumb gently up and down her side. "I know. I'm sorry. I just- With everything that's happened since you showed up, there hasn't been a time to tell you."

Allison couldn't help herself, whispering, "How?"

"After DC, when they found me in the rubble," Brock quietly explained, "They took me to a HYDRA medical lab. Someone like me, they'd already made a big investment in. And in the shape I was in, burns over 40% of me an' in my lungs, broken bones, a list of internals-" He shook his head. "I couldn't exactly say "no". By all rights, I shouldn't have survived the collapse. Luck sometimes visits a fool, huh? But I'd have done anything to try and get back to you. 

"It was a derivative of Reinstein's serum from the Weapons Plus Program. It wasn't perfect, like Erskine's formula. They warn you about the pain, but I didn't think it could be worse than having a fucking building fall on ya. ...But it kept me alive and put me back together inside. The burns and scars, they've been a slow work in progress. And, safe to say, leaving like I did, they won't be helping with that anymore. Sorry, sweetheart, I'm stuck lookin' like this."

A small cough of a laugh escaped her and Allison realized, although she didn't know why, there were tears in her eyes. Maybe it was the discomfort in his restrained voice she heard. Maybe it was trying to imagine what he must have gone through when the Triskelion collapsed, a fate she'd narrowly missed for herself. Whatever it was, she hurt just listening.

"We found out with some surgeries," he softly went on, "any significant blood loss or replacement dilutes the serum's presence, but it regenerates and assimilates the new blood. It just slows the healing process, if the injuries are severe enough. You said I took about six pints. It took me a few days to get back on my feet, but by now, the serum should be concentrated enough again to show in test results. I wanted you to hear it from me." Rumlow paused, holding her a little closer. "Addy, do you understand everything I've told you?"

"Yes," she whispered, giving a subtle nod, tightening her arms around him.

There was a worry underlining his voice, a kind of nervousness, when he asked, "Are you okay?"

Allison nodded again, shutting her eyes and hoping they would dry soon. Brock bowed his head, pressing his lips to the curve of her neck and lingering there for a long moment. She nuzzled against his shoulder and took a deep breath, trying to wrap her head around what he had told her.

Brock lifted his chin, turning back to her ear. "A little bit more of the monster they tell you I am now, huh?" 

There was a shame to his words that tugged at her heart and she shook her head. Allison pulled back, just enough to see him. "I don't think that's what you are," she told him. Rumlow tipped his forehead to hers, seeming relieved, when she said, "Your secret's safe with me."

Allison straightened up, gently touching her hand to his face, her fingertips moving softly over the scars near his eye and temple. They was a worried look in his eyes, set on hers while her gaze wandered over the faint remnants of the burns DC had branded him with, and he offered, "I'm sorry, Addy. I never wanted any of this to happen."

Allison gave him a warm grin and a small nod of her head. "I know. Me, too. But it's okay, now."

"I don't know that I'm as optimistic as you," he quipped, with a hint of awkwardness in his usually cocky smirk.

"I always was the glass half full one," she teased, and her smile broadened at the small cough of laughter her joke got from him.

He took back his arm, letting her go and gesturing to one of the chairs along the windows. "You stickin' around?" he wondered, taking a seat for himself.

"Thought I'd stop by for a bit; see how you're doing," she told him. Allison couldn't help the grin at the effort Rumlow put into sitting down, making it seem as if his wounds still gave him some aches.

"No complaints," he shrugged, with his "good" shoulder. Brock chuckled, pointing outside, "Got a nice view, food's decent. The bed's as comfortable as it could be, but it ain't home."

"Yeah," she agreed, with a nod and a wistful thought back to her apartment in DC. She wiped the dampness from under her eyes away and snorted, thinking out loud, "I kinda wonder, sometimes, whatever happened to all my stuff. Did my landlord just throw it out? Did anybody come and claim any of it?" Brock quirked up an amused eyebrow and snuffled a laugh. "Like, _who has my CDs_? Is someone watching my Mel Brooks DVDs? Is anyone still watering the plants?"

She sputtered into her own laughter, when his came out. For the first time in awhile, Allison's heart felt light, seeing him laugh and shake his head at her again. It'd been so long since they'd had a moment like this together. Lost in their amusement at the absurdity of Allison's musings, neither of them noticed the door opening until they heard Fury speak up.

"Actually, it's all in storage," he said, leaving the door standing open behind him, as both their expressions sobered and attentions went to him. "It was seized as evidence."

"Son of a bitch," Rumlow quielty marveled.

Fury stepped a little further into the room and Allison noticed the file folder in his hand. "The world's just full of surprises, lately...isn't it, Commander?" 

"I'll say," Brock agreed, looking over the man in front of them.

Fury looked down at Allison, politely saying, "If you don't mind, I'd like to have a few words, in private, with Commander Rumlow."

Allison's eyes flicked over to Brock. He gave her a subtle nod and she stood up from her chair. As she stepped around Fury to leave, she touched her hand to Rumlow's shoulder, giving him a squeeze. He put his hand over hers, flashing her a reassuring smile. Allison left, with a nod to Fury as her goodbye. As she was shutting the door behind her, she overhead Fury say, "I think we both can dispense with the charades, Commander."

Allison hurried to the elevator. When the elevator doors opened, she sprinted down the hall to her room. Inside, she called for JARVIS to show her the security camera feed from Rumlow's room.

"My apologies, Lt. Addams," JARVIS began, "but Director Fury has requested that the audio and visual surveillance of that room be restricted."

"Restricted?" she frowned. "Restricted to who?"

"For Director Fury's review only, ma'am," the AI said.

"Fuck," she complained, under her breath.

Allison took a useless look around her room, settling a frustrated stare on the blank television screen in front of her for a long moment. Her mind began to wonder and she worried what Fury wanted with Brock alone, about what was in the folder Fury had in his hand, and why the former Director had blacked out surveillance of his meeting with Rumlow to anyone but himself. For what Brock had just told her, she didn't have a good feeling about the visit.


	66. Chapter 66

July 2015

Allison was impatient. She was stressing herself, thinking about what Fury and Rumlow might be discussing. She had made a couple attempts in the last hour to check with JARVIS and see if the restriction had been lifted on the security feed of Brock's room, but they had not. Frustrated, Allison gave up on waiting. She left her room, turning for the stairs at the end of the hall. 

In the living area below, Allison saw Wilson reading a magazine in one of the armchairs. At the kitchen counter, Rogers looked to be nearing the end of his lunch, taking a drink from his glass. Barton and Stark sat together at one of the tables, between them and their plates was a tablet and they seemed to be discussing whatever was on the screen. Tony turned to look over his shoulder, when Clint looked passed him to smile at Allison coming down the stairs. She nodded back at him, on her way toward the kitchen.

Tony went back to his conversation and Allison went to the refrigerator. She felt Wilson and Rogers watching her, as she took a bottle of water from the shelf and shut the door. Allison didn't have to look to prove it to herself. The anxiousness she felt in her gut was enough for her. She turned around, looking disinterestedly over the trays of sandwiches, raw vegetables and dip, and cold sides that were on the counter for lunch. Allison was ready to go back and hide in her room again, happy to make a play that she had only been interested in a drink and escape the stares she felt, when Stark spoke up.

"It's kind of a light day for lunch," he noted, loud enough to be addressing her. She looked over and saw that was the case, meeting Tony's gaze. "Pepper usually takes care of ordering the food, but she's out of town today," he explained, sounding a bit sheepish. "If you have any better ideas, we can call the kitchen."

Allison flashed a polite grin and shook her head. "That's okay."

"Grab a plate and sit down," Clint told her, waving a hand high through the air to guide her over. Before Allison could excuse herself back to her room, Barton added, pointing at the bottle in her hand, "And grab one of those for me, too, okay?"

Shifting her gaze down to the drink in her hand, Allison caught a glimpse of Rogers staring at her. With his elbow pointed into the countertop and his fork held in his limp wrist, he chewed his food and said nothing. She inhaled, her shoulders lifting and a little more confidence coming to her, as she decided she was getting a little tired of feeling bullied by his disapproval of her. 

"Here," Allison said, turning her attention back to Clint. She made a pump fake motion to warn him and then tossed her bottle of water over the counter to him, before going back to the fridge. Allison got herself another drink and picked up a plate. She added some mayonnaise to a sandwich and spooned out some dip for some carrots and such. Allison walked passed Rogers and took a seat at the table with the others.

From the side of her eye, Allison noted Wilson watching her over the top of his magazine. He seemed to be splitting his attention between her and Rogers, maybe waiting to see what, if anything, would happen or if one of them would speak to the other. But nothing did happen. Rogers finished his lunch and Allison started hers, nodding, as she chewed, when Tony asked if her room was okay. It started a light exchange between the trio at the table about amenities in the tower that passed the time pleasantly enough.

Oct 2013

Pulling in to the parking space reserved for her apartment, Allison disconnected her phone from the SUVs Bluetooth. She put the phone to her ear, pinching it there with her shoulder while she took the car out of gear, grabbed her keys, and slid out the door. Her call was answered by the fourth ring, just shy of being sent to voicemail. She smiled at hearing Rumlow's distracted, "Yeah", opening up the hatch of the car to grab her backpack.

"Honey, I'm home," Allison brightly sang. "Where are you?"

"Oh, hey," he finally tuned in. "I'm at work. What's up?"

"Well, I'm home," she reminded him. "You should be here, too."

"Agh," Brock groaned. "I can't, sweetheart. Something's come up and I've got some things to take care of first."

Allison hit the remote to lock her SUV and headed up the walkway to her building. "You're being vague," she smirked. "You got company?"

"Yeah. How was your trip?" he casually checked.

"Good," she nodded to herself. "My old connection's willing to play ball."

"Glad to hear it," Rumlow approved.

"You're almost no fun to talk to like this," Allison frowned, unlocking the front entry door to her building. "Who's there? Is it your work wife?" she teased. "Is it Jackie?"

She heard Brock snuffle a laugh. "Jack," he corrected.

"No," she slyly chuckled, "I think I got it right the first time. You know how spending time with you're work wife makes me jealous. Ditch the bitch and come see me. I missed you."

Allison could tell he wanted to try and keep the conversation private in front of Rollins, hearing his voice drop a level to tell her, "I missed you, too. But I've got a meeting to get to and then some training to get in."

She snickered at barely hearing Jack on the other end of the call telling Brock he was whipped. Stopping in the foyer to check her mailbox, Allison chuckled. She knew he wouldn't tell her what he was up to. Not with Rollins there. If he had told Jack he was seeing someone lately, the girl he would have mentioned would have been a civilian. To sell the story, Brock obviously wouldn't discuss the particulars of his work with the imaginary woman.

"Tell him, you're girlfriend just got back in town and she's super horny," she joked. "Tell him you have to leave."

"Is that so?" Rumlow asked, a subtle playfulness in the short question.

"Absolutely," she purred, climbing the stairs to her apartment.

"Believe me, babe," Rumlow assured her, "there's nothing else I'd rather do, but this can't wait."

Allison barked out a laugh, when she could hear Jack in the background complaining, "For fuck's sake, Bingo. Rub it out already and let's go. We've got briefing in ten."

While Rumlow mouthed off at Rollins, Allison missed it, whispering a polite "hello" as she passed her neighbor in the hall. Thumbing out the key for her front door, she lit up. "Tell him it's me," Allison insisted, with a mischievous grin. "See what he does."

"You know I won't do that," Brock grumbled.

"I can't believe you'd rather spend the rest of the afternoon with Jack," she halfheartedly griped. "Is it because he's prettier than me? Be honest."

"No," Rumlow laughed. "Jack is not prettier than you, sweetheart."

"The fuck I'm not," she plainly heard Rollins disagree. "I'm fuckin' adorable, and you know it."

"Adorable's a bit of a stretch, don'tcha think?" Rumlow scoffed, obviously talking to Rollins again.

"That's not what you said that night in Oman," Jack argued.

"There was no night in Oman," Brock firmly assured her, and she laughed at hearing Jack's mischievous chuckle in the background.

"Put Jack on the phone," Allison begged. "I wanna hear about Oman."

"Keep it up," he playfully warned. "See what happens."

"Fine," she dramatically sighed, walking in to her apartment and pushing the door closed behind her with her shoulder. "Have fun with Jack." Allison dropped her bag to the floor and set her keys aside on the table by the door. "I guess I'll just take a nice...long... _hot_ bath. Maybe have some wine, loosen up a bit. I've got this new açai berry body cream. Smells delicious. Maybe I'll just put that on and climb into bed a little early an' think about you. But you have fun at work, okay? Take your time."

There was a pause on the other end of the call, before he quietly complained, "You're killing me, woman."

"Give Jack a kiss for me, okay?" she grinned, stepping out of her shoes in her bedroom.

"I'm hanging up now," he informed her, the smile still evident in his voice.

"Tell me you love me?" Allison wondered, pressing her luck with him in front of Rollins.

There was a pause for a beat, before Rumlow relented with a low, "I love you."

"Fuckin' whipped," she heard Jack call Brock.

Allison beamed, proudly. "I love you, too," she promised. "Whatever you two are up to, you guys be safe. I'd hate to have to find two new assholes to hang out with."

"You won't have to. I promise," he chuckled. "I'll see ya in a couple hours."

July 2015

By the time Allison finished eating, Rogers had put his dishes in the sink and disappeared in the elevator some time ago. Wilson stuck around, still involved with his magazine, while Clint and Tony had gone back to their original conversation with the tablet, discussing some possible modifications to the Avengers' Quinjet. Allison listened in for a bit, before she excused herself to her room. She was still preoccupied with not knowing what was going on between Fury and Rumlow.

Back upstairs, JARVIS apologized again that he could not show her anything from Brock's room. In an attempt to distract herself from staring at the clock, Allison picked out an orange from the fruit basket in her room, tossing it in the air and passing it between her two hands. It didn't work and she resorted to turning on the television, but nothing held her interest. She only checked the time slightly less frequently. Allison plopped down in one of the armchairs, with her knees hugged up to her chest. She told JARVIS to let her know as soon as the cameras had been restored. Once they were, she planned on going back to make sure Brock was alright. In the meantime, Allison rested her cheek to her knee and literally watched the clock.

"Boy, you are selling the shit out of this good girl routine."

Allison shut her eyes and turned her head down, hiding the wince on her face behind her knees.

"Look at you," Jack went on, sounding proud, almost boastful. "...Got yourself out of the stockade, got a nice comfy room. No handcuffs. You even got Fury fooled. Well done, Princess."

"Go to hell," she scowled.

"Wait. You- You don't _actually_ think you deserve to be here, do you?" he checked.

Allison's eyes closed tighter, an exhale of aggravation leaving her, slowly.

"No, of course not," he answered for her. "You know what you did."

"Nothing, compared to you," she muttered, refusing to look for him, despite the sound of his footsteps stopping in front of her.

"When are you gonna quit lying to yourself that you can fit in here?" Jack wondered. "Nobody trusts you. You see it; the stares, the looks from the corner of your eye. You can almost hear them whisper, right now, can't you, Princess?"

"Stop it," she said, flatly, refusing to acknowledge how right he was about her newfound discomfort and paranoia around the Avengers team.

"You know what the funny part is?" Jack asked, but she didn't respond. "They're all just a bunch of liars, like you. The only difference is, you're outnumbered. Hell, even Fury's been lying to you. And he's  _still_ hiding shit. What makes you think you can trust him?"

" _He_ trusts me," Allison corrected.

"You're right," he agreed. "He does. But that doesn't matter in a fire fight. ...Who do _you_ trust, Princess? The man who faked his own death? The spies? Surely not the brooding captain and his new friend. ...Who's going to watch your back? ...and not put their own bullet in it?"

When Allison didn't answer his questions, he moved on. "Smart move, not sticking around here," Jack told her, his footsteps slowly meandering away. "Don't want anyone getting too attached. Won't be anybody to disappoint; nobody else to let you down. You're better on your own, anyway. You've proved that. Time to pick up where you left off."

"Since when do you give a shit about me and know what's best?" she scoffed, lifting her chin and leveling her eyes at him sitting on the corner of her bed.

"Day 1, Princess," he told her, as if she should know. "Call it tough love, but you can't think of a single time that I didn't have your six. Me...Bingo. We're the only ones who always did." Smirking, he gestured his hand toward the door. "Hell, even Rogers didn't hesitate to try and kill you the second he thought you were HYDRA." Rollins settled forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Me and Bingo, we've bled and we've sacrificed for you. Now that you know about HYDRA, you know everything about us. ...But do you know everything about _them_?"

Allison's head jerked, at the sound of the knock on her door. Her feet slid off the edge of the chair to the floor, as she took a look around her empty room. Shaking her head clear, she rubbed at a sore spot on her neck and went to the door. On the other side was Barnes.

"Hey," he nodded once. "You busy?"

"No," she said. "What's up?"

"If you've got some time," he began, a little uncomfortably, "I thought maybe you could help me...with some things. I got the tablet you gave Steve back from the lab guys and started looking for the things he mentioned, but I couldn't find much. I thought maybe he was lying, but maybe I just wasn't looking in the right place. I thought maybe, since you had the tablet for so long..."

He trailed off, but he didn't need to finish. Allison stepped away from the door, opening the way for him to come in. She saw the tablet in his hand, as he passed her. She motioned for him to sit at the table and, when she joined him, he turned the device around to face her.

"Where do you want to begin?" she asked, tapping the device to life.

Barnes thought for a minute. "Dr. Yates."


	67. Chapter 67

July 2015

"Yates. I know that name," she nodded, her eyes running over the tablet in her hands. 

"I couldn't find a file on him," Barnes frowned.

"I've seen it somewhere before, a long time ago." She shook her head, tapping and swiping. "It's not a file, but he's in them," she distractedly said, most of her attention on trying to separate the information she'd already read from the new files that were put on the tablet for her by Rumlow at the base. The wrinkle of concentration in her brow relaxed, when she said, "Here. In the exams attached to some of the mission debriefs."

Allison turned the tablet around to face him. Barnes took up the device, his eyes skimming over pages as he swiped through the reports. He shook his head slowly as he went along. He breathed out, muttering to himself, "This isn't right. This can't be it."

"What's wrong?" she wondered, looking between him and the device.

"There's nothing here about him," he said, putting the tablet down. "It's his signature on reports. It's a mention in something, but it's not about him. It doesn't say anything about him." He looked up from the tablet when the screen blacked out. "He said Yates was in here."

There was a hint of accusation in Barnes' comment and Allison frowned, pulling the tablet back to her to look again. "We'll keep looking," she promised. "There's a lot of things in here I haven't seen before; files he added when he found us." She tapped open the first new file she saw, her eyes scanning the documents it contained, as she asked, "Did you ask the tech guys, or anyone else, about Yates?"

She looked up from her work when there wasn't an answer. Barnes' brow was furrowed and an odd mix of worry and frustration was on his face. He finally said, "No. I don't want people to know what I'm looking for...or that I am looking. I don't want Steve to- ...He thinks I remember more than I do, sometimes." He looked up, his expression softening, when he added, "I remember enough. A lot about home and before the war, but this... is personal...for now. I don't really know who else to trust with this, but you were- You helped me with the trigger before. Maybe you can..."

He trailed off and Allison nodded her understanding. "Okay," she agreed. "We can figure this out. If Rumlow said it's here, it's in here somewhere."

"You believe that?" he asked, his eyes giving her a mildly concerned walk up and down.

"I do," she nodded, and went back to her work. After several minutes and two useless files, Allison had an idea. "JARVIS?" she called, catching Barnes attention in the quiet.

"Good afternoon, Lt. Addams," the pleasant AI responded. "How may I be of assistance?"

"You have access to the information contained in the tablet Sgt. Barnes gave to Capt. Rogers?" she checked. "The HYDRA files from Cmdr. Rumlow, correct?"

"Yes, ma'am."

She shared a look with Barnes, a little worried when she asked, "Is Sgt. Barnes, or myself, able to access those files?"

"Your security clearance does allow you access," JARVIS approved. "However, Sgt. Barnes has not been assigned a clearance level yet."

Allison smirked, playfully reminding Barnes, "See? Told ya you didn't rate to know."

"Very funny," he dryly said.

"You might want to look in to that," she teased.

"I've taken the liberty to send reminders to address the issue as soon as possible, sir," JARVIS noted.

Barnes' eye ticked around the ceiling, as if he were still looking for the source of the disembodied voice. "Uh, thanks."

"You're welcome, sir," JARVIS replied.

"JARVIS," Allison began, "search the intel recovered from Cmdr. Rumlow's tablet for any and all instances of the name, Dr. Yates."

"Searching," JARVIS complied. "I have found 348 instances of the use of "Dr. Yates" and "Dr. Cyril Yates"."

"This could take awhile," Allison quipped.

Allison had JARVIS narrow down their search. She began by having him remove reports he may have signed off on, but not directly written. Of the 305 remaining results, they edited out instances that only made nonspecific mention of Yates. They were left with 59 reports Dr. Yates had personally authored and an assortment of just over 100 documents he contributed to in at least some small way. JARVIS filtered the remaining results, sorting them into a few categories, namely research, procedures, and assessments and had JARVIS display them in an interface on her television.

Allison's eyes wandered over their options and she took a deep breath. "Okay. Let's get started."

Oct 2013

Walking in to the briefing room, Allison was busy eyeing the tablet in her hand, scanning the notes for her squad's training schedule over the next week. Ahead of her, she was aware of some chatter in the room, but her ears didn't prick until she heard, "I bet Al could do it." 

"No," she said, casually but firmly, as she dropped to slouch comfortably in one of the empty seats at the tables, waiting for the rest of her subordinates to arrive before beginning her briefing.

"You haven't even heard," Eric mischievously protested.

"Don't have to," she shrugged, looking around the faces of most of her fire team assembled around the chairs nearby. She pointed a finger across all of them, noting, "Whatever it is, coming from you guys, it's a setup."

"Aw, come on," Mickelson griped, his face pinching with insult. 

"No, it's cool," DiAmato put a hand consolingly on his shoulder. "She's just saying that because she knows she can't do it. Not this one, anyway."

Beside him, Hughes nodded his agreement. "You're right. Not even her."

She knew what they were doing, but her curiosity was piqued nonetheless. "What are you girls going on about?"

Lately, the boys had been having fun seeing what Allison could get away with. It started out easily enough. Everyone knew it irritated the Lt. Commander when someone wasn't prepared. They'd snickered at the dressing down Rollins had given a recent addition to Bravo Team when the Specialist didn't have a pen on him to sign off on a posted form to say he was aware of a mandatory squad meeting. The poor guy hadn't thought anything of asking to borrow one from Rollins, who was in a conversation nearby. Allison didn't think anything of it, not having heard about the incident, when her own pen ran out and she asked Jack to lend her his for a moment, a week later. He handed it over without a word. She made some notes on her paperwork and gave it back a minute or so later.

But Eric had witnessed both events and was curious to see how much Allison could get away with that the others couldn't. He took her aside and filled her in. Allison laughed, chalking it up to Rollins having fun giving the new guy shit, but Mick insisted there was something more. He dared her to test his theory, that she all but walked on water in Jack's eyes, telling her she'd see for herself. All she had to do was ask for something or do something that Jack wouldn't normally let somebody do. They just had to figure out what it would be.

The first test was simple. Rollins never lent out his gear, to anyone for any reason. So when Allison went up to him, asking to borrow his knife to cut off a loose thread from her uniform, knowing full well there was a pair of scissors or a lighter in the desk drawer not ten feet from her in the classroom they gathered in for some SOP updates, Eric and the rest of her fire team were dumbfounded when Jack pulled off the folding knife clipped into his pocket and handed it over. It slowly escalated from getting Jack to cover her bill for lunch, when she "accidentally" left her wallet in her car when they broke for lunch during field training one time and a handful of operators ended up at the same restaurant, to Jack actually handing over the keys to his personally owned SUV, when she said she was making a run for ice and more drinks while they were at the PT course and mentioned his car was closer than hers. He hadn't even taken his eyes off the paperwork on his clipboard, when he silently dug the keys out of his pocket and dropped them in her palm.

But Rumlow had caught on weeks ago and warned her, "You're pressing your luck. What are you gonna say when he figures out you're testing him?"

"I'm gonna hope my halo is polished up that day and that I can outrun him," she'd winked.

But today, when Hughes bet that Jack wouldn't give up his last cigar to her, Allison figured they'd probably found Rollins' breaking point. Everyone knew Jack relished the times he had a stash of particular Cohibas on hand, whenever he or a buddy could get their hands on them during an op. And Emery had overhead Rollins say he was down to his last two, a little while ago. With no expectation of any missions to the region anytime soon, Rollins was going to be SOL after he finally lit the last one up. If she could convince him to give her one, it would give her a godlike status among her peers.

When she heard the challenge, Allison just stared. She slowly shook her head, pointing out, "Rollins would sooner give a limb than give up his last Cuban. He gets them, like, twice a year, if he's lucky. You'd have better luck asking for a kidney."

" _We_ would," Eric agreed, before pointing a finger at her, "but not you." Allison stubbornly shook her head, as he assured her, "After Cabinda and all the help you give Delta without Romanoff, the shit you two do back and forth... You're one of his poker buddies for fuck's sake. All you have to do is ask. I guarantee it."

"Even if I got it-" she posited. "And that's a _big_ if. Where's this gonna end guys? What's next, six pints of blood? His first born?"

"Last one," Mick promised, holding up his hand to vow. "Do this and you'll be legend."

Allison could admit to herself that the challenge was a worthy one for her swan song. As long as she could pull it off. She accepted her mission, albeit a bit begrudgingly. To pull it off, she figured she'd bullshit some story about failing to get one of her own in time for a gift for a friend's birthday. It'd be a hard sell to convince him it was for her. While she may have tried a few puffs in her life, Rollins knew she wasn't a smoker.

She found him in his office, later that afternoon. Allison let herself in when he answered her knock telling whoever it was to come in. He was studying something on his computer, as she approached his desk. By the time she arrived at the chairs in front of him, he had looked up and squared himself to face her.

"What's up?" he wondered, motioning a hand out for her to sit, when she asked if he had a minute.

"I just had a teensy little favor to ask," she casually began. "Kinda got myself into a pinch for a friend's birthday and you're probably the only guy that could help."

"What do they want you to get this time?" Rollins asked, resting back into his chair and setting the side of his jaw onto his fist.

"What?" Allison blinked.

"Mick and the rest of those idiots," he explained, gesturing his hand at nothing in particular. "What'd they tell you to try and get now?"

"Well, shit," Allison breathed, with a curl of guilt in the side of her mouth. 

Jack nodded, knowingly, lacing his fingers together in front of him. "Mhmm."

"When'd you figure it out?" she wondered, giving him a discerning squint.

"After the knife," he told her, with a shrug as if it were easy to pick up on. "Everyone has at least one on them, at all times. You're too squared away for that shit. Besides, I saw you move it to your other pocket before you came over."

"And you just played along?" Allison pressed.

Rollins shrugged. "Harmless enough."

"Why would you let me do all those things?" she had to know.

Jack chuckled, sitting up to fold his arms on his desk. "Why wouldn't I let you do those things?"

"Because nobody gets to?" she offered.

"True," he conceded, with a thoughtful frown and tip of his head. "But it's you. Trust goes a long way, Ally. I don't worry about you."

Allison grinned, proudly, pleased to have his confidence like that. "Thanks, Jack."

"But I am curious what you're getting out of all this?" he smirked.

"Besides you buying my lunch and letting me borrow all your stuff?" Allison joked and Jack snorted his amusement. "I'm working my way up from professional little shit to prestige level."

Rollins nodded his approval. "So," he turned up his palms to invite her, "what is it this time?"

"The Cubans."

Jack's enthusiasm somewhat lessened, he flatly questioned, "What?"

Allison winced, shrinking into her shoulders a bit and flashing an innocent smile. "Somebody heard you were almost out, so they wanted to see if I could get the last one."

"I see," he nodded. "And how were you gonna pull that off?"

"I had a whole BS story about trying to score a Cuban for a friend's birthday," she confessed. "I was gonna come in here, batting my eyelashes and promising to replace it with a fresh one next time I got anywhere close to Cuba."

"And if that didn't work?" he led her on, sitting back in his seat again.

Allison shrugged, with a coy smile. "Didn't really think it wouldn't work."

Jack smirked, snuffling his laugh. "You've got some nerve, Princess," he shook his head, smiling.

"So, how 'bout it?" she hoped. He seemed to be considering the request and she playfully egged him on, "Come on, Jack. Be a buddy."

Rollins shook his head again. "And what do I get for helping you out of this one?" 

Allison's shoulders rose as she held up her empty hands. "I was gonna give it back later?" she suggested. "I don't know. I thought the con would work. Didn't come prepared for a negotiation."

"A failure to plan..." he disapprovingly trailed off.

"I know," she grumblingly admitted.

But she watched Jack pull open his desk drawer anyway and pull out a brushed aluminum case. He held it up in his fingertips for her to see, his elbow pointed into the desk, telling her, "This is the last one, Princess." Allison reached out for it, but Jack pulled it back to him. He cocked up a brow, assuring her, "I _will_ get this back...in the same condition I'm giving it to you...before you're squad goes out of rotation and you leave this building Friday night."

"Yes, Sir," she nodded, holding her hand back out and wearing a thin smile of accomplishment.

Jack handed over the case and Allison beamed. He shook his head, leaning back in his seat again as she stood from hers to go. At the door, she had just turned the handle and paused, when Rollins said after her, "And you still owe me a lunch from that _forgot your wallet_  bullshit in July."

Allison smiled, promising, "I'll buy you lunch tomorrow. And I'll even drive you around in my own car. Just name the place."


	68. Chapter 68

July 2015

Three hours later, they knew who Dr. Yates was. Cyril Yates had been the man behind the Winter Soldier Program since 1998. Publicly lauded as an accomplished biochemist and researcher, Yates secretly experimented with recreating Erskine's super solider serum for HYDRA, using Zola's success with Barnes as his jumping off point. He worked off stolen research notes from Reinstein's serum for the Weapons Plus Program, as well as Howard Stark's work. His experiments were performed on prisoners for several years, as his serum was being refined. When Allison was HYDRA's prisoner and Rumlow had warned her Barnes wasn't the only Winter Soldier, it wasn't a bluff. The five other Winter Soldiers he was talking about were proof of Yates' success, after a decade of trial and errors.

According to the reports and files, most of Barnes' time during Dr. Yates' tenure was spent unconscious. It explained why he had such a hard time remembering him. But when Barnes and Allison began reading up on his more recent work, they understood why Rumlow had suggested Barnes look up the doctor in the first place.

Yates had perfected his formula in late Winter of 2008. When he was certain the serum was a success, the prisoners he had experimented on were executed. HYDRA recruited volunteers for a pilot program by the next summer. Four men and one woman were selected to receive the serum. HYDRA kept them under lock and key, isolating them for study and training at a hidden base in the mountains of Siberia. While HYDRA fine tuned their soldiers into lethal warriors, they tested their skills and strengths against their greatest achievement; against Sgt. Barnes.

Allison and Barnes poured over the reports and assessments. Yates and his staff noted shortcomings and failures the new soldiers had against their predecessor and kept thorough documentation about how the doctors and trainers corrected the problems. However, the more the prototypes progressed, the more damage was inflicted on Barnes. And it began to interfere with his availability for and effectiveness on missions. Memorandums from HYDRA leadership made complaints about the Asset's growing inefficiency in comparison to the new soldiers and insisted the research phase of the program be accelerated to put the new soldiers into the field for evaluation. But the doctors and trainers had begun to see a flaw in their plans. While the soldiers were obedient as any other soldier at the start, the stronger they grew and more impatient they became with their isolation in Siberia, the more their ambition began to shine through. It was late in the study when the new soldiers began testing their limits with the facility guards and the staff overseeing the program.

Found amidst the complaint and concern memos were several letters from Rumlow. In the memos, Brock openly criticized the training staff at the facility for the injuries Barnes was being exposed to and, as he named it, "their ignorance". He called out Yates and his team for injuries directly received during sessions with the new soldiers that were underreported or overlooked by staff, criticizing their care of the Winter Soldier and its negative effects on several factors critical for mission success on recent deployments, and outright accused Yates and his team of neglect and wanton disregard of the protocols for the use and handling of Barnes out of cryo. According to the grievances, Barnes had been revived for sessions on "at least three known occasions" when Rumlow wasn't on hand, in violation of regulations requiring the Asset's handler to oversee Barnes during any physical training or weapon's use when not activated for a mission, in the event of any incidences.

In response, Yates had registered a formal complaint against Rumlow in early 2010, alleging the then 1st Lieutenant had interfered with an evaluation of one of the new soldiers, putting the prototype at gunpoint and ordering him to stand down when he had put the Asset into submission but had not stopped his attack. The session ended with the new soldier returned to his quarters under armed escort. The records included video footage of the training session and the events that occurred at the end. They showed Rumlow dressing down Yates while two technicians gathered a nearly unconscious, and clearly badly wounded, Barnes up off the floor. When the doctor gave Brock a shove to try and move him out of the training room, Rumlow threw a punch and put Yates up against the wall, until Rollins stepped in to pull him back.

According to the documents from the resulting investigation, Rumlow was reprimanded for striking the doctor during their argument over Brock's "perceived misuse of the Asset". The investigation report did support some of Rumlow's claims against Yates and his staff, noting that, after this particular incident, the Asset was out of service for three days while his medical team treated and repaired his injuries. Rumlow was ultimately suspended from duty for five days for his "insubordination" and the report recommended his reassignment from the Winter Solider Program. The altercation with Yates was Rumlow's last visit to Siberia and his last duty performed as the Asset's handler.

When the last video of the new Winter Soldiers' training finished, JARVIS spoke up, saying, "Pardon the interruption, Lt. Addams, but the restrictions for the security feed for Cmdr. Rumlow's room have just been removed. Presently, Capt. Rogers is with Cmdr. Rumlow. Shall I put the video on screen for you?"

Allison gave a questioning look to Barnes and he gave her a nod, waving a hand out to invite her to do whatever she wanted. "Yes, please," she answered, figuring Barnes was just as curious as she was about what Rogers and Brock might be discussing.

The television screen cleared itself of the video and file icons about Dr. Yates. The camera feed from Brock's room took over and they came in in the middle of a conversation. Rogers stood in the room, his arms crossed and looking down at Rumlow sitting in the chair he was in when Allison had left him. She noticed the sling was gone from his shoulder and he was resting both arms comfortably along the arms of the chair.

"You want to get the rest of that shit out of Barnes' head and slow down that program," Brock checked, "then you'll go after Stovall."

"Why the sudden sharing?" Rogers suspiciously wondered. "Trying to buy your way out of here?"

"I'm trying to help you," Rumlow corrected. "What I can give you, SHIELD is years away from knowing about HYDRA."

"And you're just gonna sing like a canary," he doubted, "because you're such a good guy after all, or you're just trying to keep yourself off the Raft?

"No. For her," Rumlow said, the answer coming so casually, as if it were obvious, and without hesitation. 

"That's it?" the Captain frowned, sounding bored. "For Addams? You're going to sit there and tell me you're willing to turn on your organization and give up all their secrets, all because of some girl."

"I used to be like you," he sneered, shaking his head. "With my head so far up Honor and Duty's ass that all I lived for was the next mission. I don't expect guys like you to get it; to see past the end of their career and imagine a life. You think I changed because of _some girl_?" Rumlow swept his head. "No, son. What I did was for _the_ girl. I would'a walked away from it all, at any moment she would've told me to." He pointed away, as if he were referencing her in the room. "That's not just some girl you're talking about. That's my whole life. I don't exist without her."

"You're such a good spy," Rogers noted, with a subtle cock of his head and discerning squint to his eye. "You almost can't tell where one line of bullshit stops and the next begins."

"Fuck you," Brock jutted his chin, his eyes unwaveringly set on Rogers.

"You're arrogant," the Captain pointed out. "Always were. Counting on people being intimidated by you; by your position, to get what you wanted done. But it doesn't work like that here. You and your division," he scoffed, "walking around, untouchable, like the king of a castle, when all you and they were was a bunch of murderers and liars. Those days are over."

"I wasn't the king," Brock snarled. "I was a fucking. god. And I was merciful." He raised a hand, pulling his index finger down with his thumb to show Rogers three fingers and the back of his hand. "Three," he told him. "Three times I kept them from killing you. You'd have been dead years ago, if it weren't for me, you sanctimonious prick." Brock snorted in derision. "But you-" He stopped and shook his head. "You were too busy on your crusade to save the world to see you needed to save yourself."

"Is that true?" Barnes asked, but Allison didn't know. She could only shake her head, eyes fixed on the television.

"You want me to thank you?" Rogers scoffed.

"I don't want shit from you," Brock glared, "except for you to do right by that girl."

"I'll warn you right now," Rogers began, leveling his gaze at Brock, "if this turns out to be a trap-"

"Do the raid," Rumlow assured him. "You'll see."

"I'm taking Addams with us," he told him.

Brock sat a little straighter. "You're what?" he growled.

"As an insurance policy," the Captain nodded, unflinching in the face of the gathering tension in Rumlow's frame. "If you're lying-"

"I'm _not_ ," he insisted.

"Then she has nothing to worry about," he coolly shrugged.

Allison shook her head at the new callousness in the Captain. She knew the betrayals cut him deeply and didn't expect him to be easily won over again, but the overt anger and suspicion was still new to her. She wondered if Barnes thought the same, or if he'd known this version of his friend before.

"Human shields isn't your forte, Rogers," Brock smugly reminded him. "If you think you're gonna use her as leverage against me, you got anoth-"

"You're not in charge anymore," Rogers hotly cut in. "You don't give orders. You don't run missions. And you sure as hell don't get to threaten me."

Brock eyed him up and down. "It's not a threat, Cap. It's a warning." He stood up to look Rogers in the eye. "You don't use innocent people like that. If anything happens to her, I'm holding you personally responsible."

"What do you know about innocence?" Rogers sneered.

"What happened to the lines you didn't cross?" Brock challenged.

"If anything happens to her," the Captain countered, "it's because you set it up."

"There's no set up," Rumlow reiterated, still squared off. "If anything, she'll be the reason you pull this off."

"If there's anything there that you promised," Rogers scoffed, with a small jut of his chin, before he turned to walk away.

"There's only ever been two times in my life I've ever been afraid," Brock said after him and Rogers stopped. "And both of them have been about that girl." The captain turned his chin to his shoulder, as Rumlow went on. "The first was those 18 days I thought I wouldn't find her. I was afraid I'd lost her and, even if I hadn't and I got her home, she wouldn't come back to me the same. The second time was just a few days ago; afraid I couldn't get her out in time and back to you. ...As much as I regret doing that now, for the way you've treated her and how you're using her." Rogers turned just enough to see Brock again. "Now that I have her back and she's safe again," Rumlow told him, "I won't let anything else happen to her. Try to be the tough guy; play you're game with me. I don't give a shit. But I promise you, right now, you do anything to her or you _let_ anything happen to her...and, Captain America or not, I _will_ kill you."

"You think I'm afraid of you?" Rogers asking, giving him a discerning once over.

"No," Brock snorted, with a vicious smirk pulling back the side of his mouth. "But then, you can be a bit naïve sometimes." Rogers seemed to bristle at the remark and Rumlow went on, "Beware of an old man in a profession where men usually die young, Captain."

They stared at each other for a moment, before Rogers gave him a slight raise of his chin and walked out of the room. Allison rubbed her fingers across her lips, resting her chin into her palm as she watched Brock. Rumlow shook his head to himself, still facing the door. He turned to go back to his chair, pausing in his about face to look up at one of the cameras in the corner for a long moment. Allison exhaled heavily, her shoulders sagging as she slowly shook her own head with her eyes fixed on his.

Her escape and the defection of Mickelson and the others had been her last mission. Brock had said so. She didn't have to do this anymore, he said. But here was Fury, trying to bring her back in, and Rogers, taking her on a black bag, whether she liked it or not. Allison dropped her head, her hands running up her face until her fingers scratched into her scalp and her forehead pressed into her palms. 

"Fuck," she quietly breathed out. 

"You okay, doll?" Barnes checked.

"Yeah," she nodded. "Fine."

Lifting her head, Allison turned her gaze back to the monitor, seeing Brock looking out over his view. She didn't know how any of this would play out, but she knew she had to go with Rogers and the others. She had to go on the raid and recover whatever it was Brock had promised. She had to show them all that Rumlow was telling the truth. 

Allison called for JARVIS to cut off the feed and looked to Barnes with an inhale to clear her head. "So, there's a few more things on Yates," she guided him back to the purpose of his visit. "What's next?"

Barnes looked at the categorized records that had returned to the screen and then to the tablet on the table between them. "I think maybe you should go talk to Rumlow," he decided, before turning his gaze up to hers. Allison started to speak, but he cut her off. "Something's going on," he told her. "I think you should find out what we missed."

"What about the rest of the files?" she questioned. "The things Brock told you to look up..."

Barnes picked up the tablet, as he stood. "I've waited 70 years to figure out what happened to me," he noted, with a thin, misplaced smile, "a few more minutes won't kill me." He raised the tablet in his hand. "I think I'll, uh, finish looking up the last of the stuff on Yates in my room."

Allison stood with him, reaching out a hand to touch his arm, with a small grin of thanks. She nodded and they turned for the door.


	69. Chapter 69

July 2015

Allison slowed her pace, as she neared Brock's door. She moved carefully, sizing up the armed detail standing guard, watching Rumlow's room and down the hall. An agent gave her a nod, as she warily approached, and Allison went inside without saying a word. She shut the door behind her and was, in a small way, relieved to see Brock alone.

"Hey, sweetheart," he smiled.

"Hey back," she quipped. Allison had several questions, but the purpose of her visit was first to find out about his discussion with Steve, and she got straight to it. "What's this about me doing a grab 'n go with Rogers?"

"You heard about that already, huh?" She nodded and Rumlow's face and shoulders fell a little. "You don't have to," he assured her.

"Didn't sound like I have much choice," Allison reasoned, jerking her thumb over her shoulder toward the camera in the corner, as she walked over to stand with him by the windows.

"Just tell him, no, Addy," Brock told her, with a confident sweep of his head.

"And if I don't," she checked, "and they don't get this guy, Stovall?"

"It's not your problem," he said. "It's theirs."

"If they don't get what you promised," she knew, "it's yours."

Rumlow nodded his acceptance of the circumstances. "But it's still not yours. You don't have to do anything anymore."

"How could I not go and let them lay that on you, if they fail?" Allison worried.

"Don't play this game with them, Addy," he firmly shook his head. "Once it starts, it won't end. Every time you try to get out; every time you try to say, no, they'll play me against you to get what they want."

She knew it was risky. Like he said, doing one favor to try and spare him any of a number of unknown consequences could open a flood gate of demands and bargains both of them may never get away from. But he'd already made the first deal, when he told Barnes and Rogers how to save her, and the next when he made the good faith offer for Stovall to try and ease Rogers' suspicions and show he was willing to cooperate.

"There isn't any other way," she decided.

"There is." He had her attention and he took a breath, seeming to get the nerve to say something. "I need you to walk away, Addy," he told her, a kind of desperation in his eyes she found unnerving. "Stay here with them or leave on your own, but you have to forget about me."

Despite the misgivings she had from the conversation, she shook her head. "Why are you saying this? What happened after I left?"

"Baby, please. Don't-" He stopped, turning his eyes up to the ceiling, and wiped a hand over mouth. "Sweetheart, listen to me. The thought of losing you is..." Rumlow sighed, shaking his downturned head. "I know. I do," he nodded, tightly. "It's not what I want, but, Addy, it might be what's best for you."

Allison shook her head, despite her understanding of what he was telling her. Brock was right. Their relationship, and the secrets it meant, was just as much a part of the tension in the air as anything else. Knowing how much easier it would be with Rogers if she and Brock had never found each other again didn't make Allison anymore inclined to give anything up though. They'd made it this far, to find each other and for no one else. Besides, there was no guarantee that if she turned her back on Rumlow that Rogers would come around, and she told Brock as much.

He nodded his somber agreement, but she understood why he kept trying. Rumlow crossed the short distance between them and pulled her to him. She turned her head down to his shoulder, taking a breath. After a long moment, Brock pulled back and cupped her face in his hands.

"They know," Rumlow said, on a defeated breath. "Addy, they know about me. That's what Fury came in here for." Allison shrank back, immediately apprehensive, and glanced at the door behind her. She looked back to Brock and he answered the question on her face, saying, "That's why they've posted up outside the door."

"What for?" she worried, her mind racing about whether or not Fury could be trusted and who else knew about Brock.

"I don't know," he admitted, with a kind of helplessness in the shake of his head. "For all I know, they're waiting for me to look at somebody wrong so they can cut me down."

"What did he say?" she pressed. "Tell me everything."

Brock drew in a long breath and shook his head. "It's like I said," he began. "The serum showed as an anomaly in the blood work. Apparently Fury's been keeping a close eye on everything since we got here and, as soon as he saw the report, he pulled the samples from the lab and shipped 'em out to SHIELD. He got the results back this morning." 

"Who else knows?"

"Could be everyone, by now," he figured. "I'm sure at least Rogers and the rest of them. The detail securing this room..."

"What was his reaction?" Allison asked.

"He was curious," he said. "He asked a lot of questions, lots of hows and whys. I answered the best I could. Told him he'd find some of the answers in the reports on Barnes about the research it all came out of; the shit I didn't care to ask about. All I needed to know at the time was that it might work. I didn't care how. Still kinda don't want to know."

"What's he going to do?" she worried.

Rumlow shrugged. "He hasn't decided."

"He had to have said something," she insisted. "Offered a deal, made a threat, something."

A hint of sadness lined the warm grin that tugged back the corner of his mouth. "I've got some things to consider," Brock said. "About what and how I might help him."

Allison shook her head. "What does that mean?"

"It's simple," he said. "The more I know that they don't, the more valuable I am. It's just a question of how usefulness plays into longevity. There'll come a point that I'm no longer necessary. Once HYDRA realizes I'm still alive and where I am, if they haven't already, they'll reassess their plans; adjust and adapt to protect themselves from the intel I can provide. And when what I know can't help Fury and the rest of them anymore...what's left? There's a lot I know that these guys would only ever figure out the hard way, but there's going to come a point, sooner or later, that HYDRA's regrouped and I'm no longer an asset here.

"I gave him a taste," Rumlow went on. "I gave him one of HYDRA's top researchers; Stovall. I told Nick and Rogers enough to whet their interest in what I have to offer. It's not going to make up for anything, but it's a start to earning back Fury's trust, anyway. With a little 'a that again, maybe I can at least hope to die of old age on the Raft or something."

Allison took and let out a slow breath, considering what he'd told her. "You're helping them. You're helping them fix Barnes and hurt HYDRA," she shook her head, slowly. "Why are they still treating you like this?"

"Because they should, Addy," he assured her. A small huff of disagreement left her and she cocked her head, looking away angrily, as he explained, "They'd be stupid not to." He shifted a step to the side to get into her line of sight again. "You know better," Brock confidently said, ducking his head to see her downturned eyes. "If you were in charge of securing this facility, you'd be doing the same thing, 24 hour, armed watch on a high value prisoner." He was right and she begrudgingly let her expression soften and eyes move back to his. "That I'm not in a cell right now is just a bit of courtesy from Nick for what I gave him so far."

"This is bullshit," Allison complained. She shook her head again, her anger coming back to her. "What the hell do they want from us?"

"You can honestly tell me you wouldn't do this the same way?" Rumlow questioned, his brow arching with curiosity. "If we were running this, you'd immediately trust the asset, take everything they said for truth, and write off everything they did for the enemy, just like that?"

Her brow pulled down in confusion, she begged, "You're on their side?"

"I'm seeing all the angles," he argued. "This is a safe play for them. It's how I would play it."

"They're using you," she pointed out. "You said so yourself, you're trying to figure out when your usefulness is up. So are they."

"I used them first," Brock admitted. "It's just the way it goes." He let out a breath. "I used them to get you and the others out. It's my turn to pay them back."

"You paid them back," she insisted. "You gave them Barnes."

A fond grin came to him, as he shook his head. "Not me," Rumlow corrected. "You gave them that one."

"Big fucking help that was," she scoffed. Allison waved a hand up at him, saying, "You're still locked up," and waved it back at herself, "half the people here won't even look me in the eye, and neither of us hears anything about what's going on except from each other. When is this going to end?"

Brock frowned, as his eyes wandered over her exhausted expression. "This might be your last chance," he gently warned her, and Allison swallowed the lump rising in her throat. "They'll never let you in while you're standing next to me. You know that just as much as I do. I'm only making things worse. If you walk away now..." Rumlow trailed off, his lips pulling back in a tight frown as Allison felt the heat coming to her eyes. He gave her a small nod, telling her, "It'll be okay, Addy."

"Not for me," she knew. "I need to see you; to know what happens and know you're okay." Allison knew what it meant if she turned her back on him. "That's what they want. They want you isolated. We know this game, too. This is the first step of how they'll try to break you."

"Trust me," he said, with the hint of a smirk, "if HYDRA couldn't break me, they don't stand a chance." The amusement was gone, when he added, "But it's not just me this is hurting, sweetheart." His thumb stroked gently along her cheek. "Knowing that you'll be okay is the reason they won't break me."

"It's not fair," she quietly argued.

"It never was," he told her. "It was never fair, you an' me doing what we do; living like we did, the lies." With her face in his hands, he pressed a kiss to her forehead, before bowing to rest his head there. "Baby, I don't want to see you punished anymore for what I did. You don't deserve that. And, honestly, I can't bear to watch it," Brock woundedly confessed. "Fuck 'em if they never believe a thing I say. I've earned that. But not you. You're better than that."

Allison shook her head, straightening up to argue, "You're better than that. You're not what they say. Not now."

"I was," he conceded, "for long enough."

"Things change," she reminded him. "People change. _You changed_."

Brock shook his head, with a small smirk. "It'd kill ya to be selfish for once and look out for your own ass?"

Allison couldn't help her grin. But she shook it away, asking, "How could I give up on you? It's always been you and me. We protect each other. I won't stop now."

"I don't want you to regret anything," he worried. "I want you to have a chance to have a life again; to move on."

"I'm fine, right here," she promised, with a kiss. They stayed there for a long minute, wrapped up in each other's arms, before Allison straightened up. She took a deep breath and said, "Tell me about Stovall."

Brock looked her in the eye and nodded. "Okay," he conceded, taking a step away and wiping a resigned hand down his face. 

Dec 2011

"Is dat you, Santy Claus?!"

"How-" Steve just stared, looking more than a little perplexed.

"What?" Allison snickered.

"Just...how?" he shook his head. "This is a Christmas song?"

Allison couldn't help but laugh, trying to explain, "Okay, it's not a standard, but yeah. It's a Christmas Song."

"If you say so," Rogers swept his head, looking to have a little trouble swallowing the truth.

"Here," she told him, passing off a handful of tinsel strands to Steve as she inched past him to pick up the remote. She skipped ahead to the next song on her iPod plugged into his surround sound system. Checking the title on the display of the remote, she smiled, promising him, "This'll be much better."

Steve paused, in the middle of pulling out some pieces of tinsel to hang on the tree in his living room. "Is that..."

"Bing Crosby," Allison smiled. "And David Bowie."

"David Bowie?" he quirked up a brow. "Really? The, uh, Ziggy Stardust guy?"

"It was a phase," she assure him, holding out a hand for some tinsel.

They listened for a couple of minutes to Little Drummer Boy, tossing and draping silver strands of thin plastic over branches of the lot bought Christmas tree. Allison had figured a little bit of an old fashioned Christmas might be just what the doctor ordered to help welcome the Captain into the 21st century, and a sense of normalcy. They met for breakfast and spent the better part of the day shopping in secondhand stores and vintage shops around DC and the surrounding area, looking for decor and ornaments that had a more classic appeal; a little more Norman Rockwell and less mass produced.

"This is much better," he agreed, with a contented grin, hanging the last of the tinsel.

"Thought you'd like it," Allison winked. She apologized when her cell phone rang in her pocket and Steve waved away her worry over the interruption, as she answered, "Buddy the Elf. What's your favorite color?"

Beside her, Steve sputtered, hiding his laughter behind the side of his hand. On the phone, Brock wondered, "In the eggnog a little early, are we?"

"Sober as a judge," she promised.

"Don't tell me you made him watch that," Brock teased.

"I did," she assured him. "The other day. Loved it, by the way."

"Of course he did," he chuckled. "What are you doing?"

Allison looked behind her, waiting for Rogers' attention as she held out a bell shaped glass ornament for him to hang. "Decorating a friend's Christmas tree," she proudly answered. “And it looks pre-tty damn good, if I do say so myself.”

"You and Christmas trees," Rumlow halfheartedly groaned. Allison grinned to herself, picking a stray piece of tinsel from the sleeve of her sweater to toss at the tree. Brock's voice had just a hint of worry, when he asked, "How's he doin'?"

"Good," she nodded, pleased that it was the truth. She had mentioned her concern about Rogers being alone for the holidays. It was his first Christmas in DC and Brock had been encouraging of her idea to help the Captain find his Christmas cheer and know he had friends to share it with. "In my capable hands?" she scoffed, as if she were actually somehow offended by the question.

"I never had a doubt," Rumlow chuckled. "I'm headed home. How much longer ya gonna be?"

"I guess we're about done," she shrugged, eyeing the tree.

Steve admired their handiwork for a moment, before nodding his agreement, and Brock asked, "You want to grab dinner, or are you out for the night?"

"Dinner?" she hesitated, catching Steve's eye. He flipped his hand, shooing her away, and Allison smiled. "Dinner sounds good. I'll give you a call when I'm on my way."

"Alright," Rumlow agreed. "See you later."

"Bye," she grinned, ending the call and biting at the side of her lip.

"S'that your boyfriend?" Rogers asked, watching her from the side of his eye, while he straightened the metal star on top of the tree. 

Allison nodded, with a shy smile. "Yeah."

"What's he do?" he asked.

"Hm?" she looked up, coming off as distracted by the tissue paper she carefully unwrapped from an angel ornament, instead of like she was stalling. "Oh, he's a, uh, banker. Investment or something," she shook her head. "I don't really know. It's a little beyond me."

"Just meet him?" 

Allison nodded. "Couple months ago."

"Well," Steve smiled, "I'm sure you'll figure it out."

"Yeah," she tittered. 

"Here," he said, digging through a shopping bag. When he straightened up, he tossed Allison the package of mistletoe they'd bought. "I have a feeling you'll get more use out of this than I will."

A snort of amusement left Allison, as she caught and looked over the package. She held it up, giving him a wink, saying, "I'll do my damnedest." Allison turned away to put the mistletoe with her keys by the door. "You coming to the Division Christmas party?"

Rogers drew in a groaning breath, letting his head loll noncommittally to the side. "I don't know," he winced.

"Aw, c'mon, Cap," she smiled, giving him a shove in the arm, as she rejoined him by the tree. "We'll get drunk and do Christmas karaoke."

"I can't get drunk," he noted, with a crooked grin.

"Good," she nodded. "Then you can keep me in tune."


	70. Chapter 70

July 2015

"Access- Dr. Demetri Stovall," he said.

Allison was surprised when the television in the room lit up to show an image of a HYDRA photo ID badge for the man, and she gave Brock and impressed pout and nod for it. The image shifted to the left side of the screen and a dossier filled the other half. Stovall was 56 years old, with glasses and a well-trimmed greying beard. Allison's eyes wandered over the picture, as she moved closer for a better look.

"Stovall is one of the lead researchers with the Winter Soldier Program," Rumlow explained, folding his arms as he inclined his head toward the image in front of him. "His area of expertise is the programming part of the Program. He's a psychologist HYDRA recruited in '91. He started his career as part of a collaboration of scientists studying cognitive and behavioral neuroscience. He made a name for himself testing the limits of hypnosis on his university students. You can imagine why he'd be of interest to the Program."

Allison nodded, listening as he went on and she skimmed the dossier on the screen in front of her. "Stovall's primary goal was the refinement of the techniques used to gain and keep obedience of the Asset. He led a team that ran experiments on HYDRA prisoners, testing all kinds of chemical and drug compounds on them, performing neurosurgeries, even implanting microchips and nanotechnology to try and gain complete control of a person."

"Did he succeed?" she asked, thinking of the five other Winter Soldiers.

Rumlow shook his head. "Close, but never perfected," he told her. "Stovall found the old ways still were the most reliable. Hypnosis, classical and operant conditioning, and good ol' fashioned indoctrination techniques. Putting people on the machines just seems to fry their brains, without the serum. That's why Barnes' memory kept coming back. The regenerative properties of the serum were repairing the synapses the machine damaged. They can't override the serum's repairs, but they can't use the machines without it. Damned if they do, damned if they don't. The technology is catching up, though."

Allison turned from the screen to face him. "Did Stovall program Barnes?"

"Yes and no," Brock thoughtfully tipped his head. "Barnes was his baseline. He developed his work for HYDRA off what Zola and the others had done before him. He tweaked things here and there, but the concepts didn't change much. Barnes wasn't actually indoctrinated until 1957. The rest of the time he was on ice, after they were done experimenting with his arm. The idea was there, but they hadn't figured out the practice before then. What they came up with to use on Barnes was effective enough to control him, at the time. It was just the procedure for reconditioning him after cryo that was the problem.

"The Asset was used pretty sparingly, up until 1983," he explained. "Stovall didn't so much as need to modify or change the process when he signed on so much as speed it up, making Barnes deployable faster. Originally, once he was revived, the Asset wasn't operational for almost two weeks. The process they were using needed time for the programming to take root again. The more missions he was assigned, the more Command realized the process no longer worked for their timetables. The machines they adapted from Zola's original designs eventually reduced the recalibration time to four hours, but at the cost of longevity. Depending on the amount of time he was operational, the programming, at its best, was reliable for up to 8 to 10 days, and that varied with exposure to certain stimuli. Plenty of time to conduct most missions, though, without failure of control."

"Then why the Russian command code?" she couldn't figure.

"Shit happens," he bluntly answered, with a shrug. "Fail safes built in to stop him when control was lost, or to prevent it from happening when a handler noticed a break down. But no one's figured out how to make the changes permanent yet, on Barnes or anyone else."

"So," she considered, "Stovall experimented with hypnosis..." 

Rumlow nodded. "It's essentially what the fail safes are built on."

"And if Stovall knows how he was built, he should be able to take him apart," she concluded.

"That code's been in his head for decades," Brock nodded. "Stovall's the best bet to get it out."

"Where's Stovall?" she asked.

"At a research facility in Dover," Rumlow said. "They're still experimenting on new subjects; working on trying to develop a delivery system for a compound he's been refining that manipulates multi-sensory integration and makes their subjects more susceptible to their programming, hoping to draw out the effects or make it permanent."

"Which means losing Stovall would also be a hit for the Program," she figured.

"A big one," he confirmed. "His latest research, the stuff that's most likely to succeed, is still in the early stages of development. And Stovall is a paranoid as fuck glory hog. He doesn't make a lot of his notes available to the rest of his team."

Allison considered Stovall's photograph for another long moment. "What about the other Soldiers?" she asked, turning to Brock. "Are they operational?"

"Not completely," he shook his head. "By comparison, their program is in its infancy. Missions they've run have been on a very short leash and with near zero possibility of exposure. And they're running 'em out one at a time. The risk of deploying a team of Soldiers that HYDRA can lose control of is, obviously, unacceptable. They're keeping them close, waiting for Stovall to get his formula figured out. But they are a very real threat."

She nodded to herself, taking in all she'd heard. Allison wandered over to the chairs by the window to sit down, saying, "Barnes came to me. He asked for my help to find out information on Yates, like you told him to."

"Oh, yeah?" Rumlow cautiously invited, moving to take the second seat by the view.

Allison nodded, watching him sit down. "We saw what happened in Siberia."

Brock's head rose in a slow nod. He looked a little remorseful, when he said, "Yeah, not a good day."

"You really did look out for him," she said. 

"Wasn't much I could do," he shook his head.

"But you tried," she noted. "The memos, the complaints."

"Yeah," he scoffed. "And look what it got me. It wasn't just me, they took all of my squad off the assignment; replaced us with a SpecOps team from HYDRA Special Forces they used as standby in case Delta's deployments conflicted with ops the Asset was given." Rumlow swept his head. "I can't say what might have happened after I left. I was shut out for a long time."

It was quiet for a moment, before she asked, "What was it like?"

"What?" he checked. "The Program?"

Allison nodded. "Being a handler."

Brock inhaled, deeply. With a subtle nod at the thought, he confessed, "It was fucked up." He tilted his head down, rubbing his right hand over the stubble on his chin. "I didn't think about it at first," he told her. "I was young; just a pup. But I moved up fast, made a name for myself. Getting that assignment, I knew it was elite. It gives you a hell of an ego. It was a power trip."

He motioned both hands in front of him, looking at whatever he imagined there. "They bring him out," Brock recalled, "the first day there, and they tell 'im, "This guy's in charge now". ...And he doesn't say anything, but they tell you, before you walk in there, "You tell 'im who's in charge'. ...So, I did."

Rumlow shook his head at the memory. "He didn't fight back," he remembered. "He gave up fighting back years before me. But I let him know." He gave a subtle nod to himself, his eyes seeing something far behind him. "I let him know I was not the mother fucker to test," he swept his head. "Beat him down so bad, I fractured his orbital socket. And that's how he met me. He knew I was a brawler and, from then on out, I was in charge."

"Order through pain," she said, and he nodded. "What changed? Why'd you start to protect him?"

"He saved my life," he said, so easily, as if the decision to subvert HYDRA Command were nothing.

"How?" she wondered, leaning onto her arms on her knees, intrigued.

"We were in Ecuador," he recounted. "Night op. I don't even remember the name of the prick he was there to kill. But our exfil cut through the jungle. It'd been raining like a sonuvabitch. We'd used this trail along the river to get in the day before, but it didn't hold up. I was on point, when the trail washed out from under me and the hillside came down with it. No warning." He shook his head. "Didn't stand a chance. Swept me right down into the water, buried most of me in the mud. Lost my NVGs, but I didn't need to see to know my hand couldn't touch the air.”

"I thought I was done," he admitted. "Had the weight of my gear fighting me and the more I tried to move, the more the mud sucked me in." His brow arched, thoughtfully, and a hint of a still disbelieving smile ghosted past the corner of his mouth. "But he pulled me out. He climbed down the hill, jumped in the river, and he pulled me out. 

Brock held up a finger, telling her, "Now, here's the rub. A part of the Asset's programming is s'posed to prevent him from harming HYDRA personnel. One of his directives is actually _preserving_ their lives...but only if it presents _no_ risk of harm to himself. He won't take a bullet for you or jump on a grenade. They were very particular about protecting their investment that way. But he'd never really been tested on that, either. ...He'd only been operational for 45 hours, nowhere near time for him to start coming around again. He gave no signs of compromise.

"The math was all wrong," Rumlow went on. "The hillside was unstable, the river was high and fast, nobody could see me under that water. Hell, my squad had barely tied off a line to try and climb down after me. There was nothing to stop the river from taking either of us. There was no reason for him to have done it. ...But he did.

"That was it," he nodded. "That was when I figured it out. There was still someone in there."

"So, he was still under programming," she considered, "and put himself at risk anyway." Allison settled back into her chair again. "How do you think he did it?"

"Knowing who he was, before all this?" Brock figured. "Instinct, maybe. I think there was something to be said for having our squad be his support team. It'd been a few years, at that point, of me being his handler. By then, it's possible he had some sense of belonging with us." He nodded. "I think he did it on instinct."

"He saved your life," Allison mused. "Tell me about saving Cap's."

Brock shifted in his chair, leaning his elbows into his knees, rubbing at his chin with one hand. "That ungrateful son of a bitch," he muttered.

"If he knew," she considered, "he might not be so ungrateful."

"I could give that guy a time machine and ship him back to the war," he suggested, flipping his hand out in frustration, "let him live like all this shit never happened, and he'd still show up one day as an old man with a knife for me."

"Maybe," she conceded. "He always was stubborn."

Rumlow snorted, putting his hands on his knees to sit up and push back into his chair. "You're telling me," he agreed. He shook his head, getting back on topic. "It was Pierce. It was always Pierce. He was watching Rogers, waiting to see how he'd fit in; how he could use him. We started giving Pierce assessments when Rogers first joined STRIKE. He was fine at first, but the busier we got, the more confidence he had with the team and on missions. Suddenly, Cap was the face of SHIELD and Delta was _his_ support.

"But it was kind of hard for Pierce and me to bullshit appearances and whatnot to distract Cap while Delta deployed on a couple missions for HYDRA without him," he explained. "Cap asked some questions of Command, said some things about how he'd be better used in the field than being a poster boy again. So, all of a sudden, Rogers is a pain in his ass. Pierce and Nick were in the middle of some spat at the time, too. It was probably more a stab at Fury to try and keep him and his Avengers on a short leash, but Pierce gave the first kill order about 7 months in. I talked him out of that one, saying the timing was wrong. People were still trying to rebuild after New York. They needed the hope and inspiration Cap gave them. It appealed to the politician in him to parade around America's hero a little longer.

"The second time," he breathed out, his attention drifting to the floor in front of him, cocking up a thoughtful eyebrow, "was when we lost Fuentes. Or I should say, when I killed Fuentes."

"Fuentes?" she questioned, a curious wrinkle in her brow. "He was shot by a sniper in Ukraine on exfil."

"He was shot by me," Brock corrected. "My element split off to scout ahead. It was all set up. There was a sniper's nest set up with an old SKS on a rooftop. I was supposed to route Rogers and the rest of the fire team through an alley and Fuentes would take him out, as soon as he breached the end of the alley. It was going to look like an ambush.

"Haney and Fuentes were in the nest," Rumlow told her. "I left them to link up with the others, or so they thought. I went to the next building. I had a pistol I'd taken off one of the sentries we came across not long after we landed. I made my call to have Cap and the others rally. I waited a couple minutes, for them to get close, and then I took my shot. I put Fuentes down, fired a few potshots at Haney as he scrambled for cover and called out the ambush. Rogers was right on time. I spent the rest of the magazine on Rogers and the guys in the alley, to make it look good, and ran back over to the nest, like I was answering Haney's call about the sniper. 

"Fuentes was dead," he nodded at the memory. "Cap and the others withdrew into the alley and found another way around. I waited it out to cover Haney, while the other element cleared the building I shot from, looking for a sniper that wasn't there. When they called no joy and they were coming back out, I dropped the rifle off the side of the building into a dumpster to cover for Haney and Fuentes' trap, before anyone else came up. I even tore Haney down for fucking up his and Fuentes' mission. I called for a dustoff from the roof and rallied the team there for exfil." Brock carded his hand through his hair. "That time," he nodded again, drawing in a breath. "That time kinda fucked me up." Rumlow looked up to Allison again. "But I did what I had to do. Cap made it and Fuentes' family thinks he died a hero. Everybody wins, right?"

"Except you," she shook her head, recalling how distant and distracted Brock had come home from that mission.

"Fuck me," he smirked. "There were bigger things than me to worry about."

"If they'd been early," she mused, "if they'd seen you fire on Fuentes and Haney, you might not be here."

Rumlow gave a nod. "Cap's a good guy," he said. "He was my friend. We trained and went to war together, for years, and he saved my life once. He didn't deserve to go out like that." Brock's head tipped thoughtfully, noting, "And he was your friend. I didn't want that taken from you."

Allison nodded her understanding and appreciation. "You said there were three times," she reminded him. "When was the third?"

"In DC," Brock said. "After he made his run for it. We tracked him and Romanoff down to a mall. They used a computer to access info she'd taken from the Lemurian Star and activated a tracker on the memory stick. Jack and I went out with the fire team to search. Cap had stashed the shield somewhere and they were in civilian clothes. I was on my way up the escalator and they were on the way down." He gave a disbelieving snort and small sweep of his head, recalling, "They played the couple routine. They were trying to hide by kissing, but I saw them. I went on; didn't report the sighting, and they got away for a little while longer."

"He should know this," Allison decided. 

"It doesn't fucking matter," Rumlow knew. 

"It might," she persisted.

But brock shook his head. "It doesn't change anything," he assured her. "None of it. It just delayed the inevitable. Pierce's ambition, Insight, all of it. He wanted too much. It was going to bring us down one way or the other. It just happened to be Cap that did it for him."


	71. Chapter 71

July 2015

Allison left when Brock's dinner was brought in. As she stepped back into the hallway, Natasha was waiting. She straightened up from her lean against the wall, when she saw Allison.

"Been waiting long?" Allison asked, a little suspicious.

"Not really," Romanoff shrugged. She tipped her head down the hall. "Come on. They're waiting for us in the war room."

Allison nodded, but Natasha didn't see. She was already turning for the elevator. Allison followed along, recalling what Brock had told her about Stovall and wondering if the rest of the team had heard the background on him already. She was just as eager to get the mission underway as she was nervous to be going in the first place. It was ridiculous though, she thought to herself. She'd done more dangerous things with less scrupulous people before. This wasn't a feeling she was used to before an operation, and she didn't like it.

Natasha lead them up through the tower, out of the elevator and down a couple turns of the halls. They arrived at a pair of closed double doors and Romanoff pushed her way inside. Allison followed, but stopped short. Ahead of them, the room was empty, except for Barnes. He was leaning down on his arms on the top of one of the leather chairs around a large conference table.

"What's this?" Allison asked Natasha, pointing a limp finger across the room. "Where is everyone?"

"Guess we're early," Natasha shrugged, pulling out a chair for herself at the end of the table.

"Thought you said, they were waiting," Allison reminded her, taking the seat to her right.

"Hey, at least you get your pick of the seats," Romanoff grinned.

It was quiet for only a minute, before the door opened again. Rogers walked in and stopped. He might have been the mirror image of Allison's initial reaction to the room. Only, when he looked between Bucky and Natasha, he figured it out first. Allison saw the slight level in his eyes and she knew herself, there was no mission briefing.

"Well," Natasha said, standing up from her chair, "my work here is done."

"Where do you think you're going?" Steve questioned, eyeing Natasha as she moved to step around him for the door.

"I'm just the delivery girl," she nonchalantly said, and disappeared out the door.

The only noise in the room was the sound of the door latching shut behind Romanoff. Rogers looked at Barnes and then to Allison. She made a subtle cock and twist of her head, a little irritated for being duped. Bucky moved down to the end of the table. And Rogers turned to go.

"Hey," Bucky said after him. "We need to talk."

Steve paused, looking over his shoulder at his friend, his hand on the door handle. "We'll talk later," he pointedly said. "You and me."

"This has to stop, Steve," Barnes insisted. "If you don't stop walking away, she will."

"Let her," he coolly said, as if Allison weren't in the room. "We don't need her."

"I do," Bucky told him. " _I_ need her." Rogers gave his friend a look of doubt and exhaustion, but Barnes wasn't deterred. He gestured blindly back toward Allison, saying, "We're partners. She's my friend. I don't have too many of those around here."

The point instantly softened the Captain's expression. "Buck-"

"Don't try to bullshit me," he cut him off. "Maybe people aren't as suspicious of me as they are of her, but I still see the stares. I know the questions they're not asking an' things they're not saying to me. So does she. But, somehow, you're the only one not trying. ...They're your team. They'll follow your lead. If you can make it work, so will they.

"This girl was going to trade her life for mine," Barnes argued. "Maybe you don't understand the hell she'd have gone through in my place, but I do. ...That means somethin' to me." He looked the Captain up and down. "I only ever seen one person so willing to give up themselves for someone else." He pushed into his shoulder. "And that was you."

Allison put her hands on the table to push her chair back and stand. "You two obviously have some things to talk about. And I'm-"

"Stay right there," Barnes told her, glancing at her over his shoulder. He looked back to Rogers, telling him, "And you, sit down. I'm tired of this bullshit."

His stubborn hesitation didn't go unnoticed by Allison. And neither did the subtle cock of Barnes' head and daring rise of his eyebrow. Rogers moved stiffly, staring down Bucky as he brushed past him to pull out a chair on the far side of the table. Barnes took the seat at the end, where he was able to see them both.

"So," Barnes exhaled, " who wants to start?" When no one spoke up, he pressed on. "Fine. I will." He looked to Steve first. "I don't get it," he admitted. "I know you two used to be friends. I hear you used to be good friends. What happened?"

"You know what happened," Steve flatly reminded him.

"I know that she was one of the first people to introduce themselves to you," Barnes noted. "I know that you two used to hang out; that she dragged you around when you got to DC, showing you things and helping you adjust. I heard she even used to spend the holidays with you when she was around and not on an op." Rogers' eyes were noticeably averted. "Hell, you used to play poker together." He made a point to look at Allison, when he added, "And I know that used to mean something."

"How d'you know that?" he scoffed.

"It's amazing what you hear, when people talk to you and you listen," Barnes told him.

"This isn't what I was asked to come here for," Rogers frowned.

"Like you'dve come if you knew?" Barnes scoffed.

"We don't have to do this," Allison pointed out to Bucky. "I already said I wasn't going to stay. There's no reason to draw this-"

"There is," he insisted. Barnes looked her in the eye, reminding her, "Maybe you will leave, but not yet. And while you're here, I'm not gonna sit by and watch you two throw knives in each other's backs when the other isn't looking. For fuck's sake, I thought you both were better than that." He motioned a hand at Rogers, noting, "I _know_ you know everything he's told her." He shifted his hand to point at Allison, adding, "And I'm pretty sure you've heard everything from him. ...So, what the hell is the problem?"

Allison hazarded a quick glance across the table, seeing a passing look of subtle shame on Steve's face at Barnes' scathing remarks. She felt the embarrassment, too. She let out a quiet sigh of resignation, knowing that no one was leaving the room until someone said something productive. She was just surprised that Rogers spoke up first.

"You came here for _my_ help," he reminded her, an edge of resentment in his tone. "Why didn't you tell me about HYDRA, about Rumlow- all of it then?"

"There wasn't time," she shook her head. Allison shrugged, knowing, "It wasn't the time. I came here about him," she raised her chin towards Barnes. "Who or what I was wasn't important."

"And that entitles you to my trust?" he scoffed. "Save Bucky and all's forgiven?"

"No," she understood. "It was the right thing to do." Allison admitted, "I don't expect your forgiveness. In hindsight, yeah, it looks like there were any number of moments, while I hid, that I could have reached out for help or to try and explain. But would you have listened, if I didn't have something to offer; some token for you to see for yourself? Could any of this really have happened without me staying in the cold?"

"I have to say," Barnes swept his head and turned to Rogers, "I don't know if it could have." He tipped his shoulder and head toward her, figuring, "If I hadn't found her, I'd still be running. I don't know how long it would have took for me to stop, or even if I ever would have."

"You would have remembered," the Captain was confident. "You would've, when you were ready."

Barnes bowed his head, with his own hint of guilt and with a small shake. "I remember more than you think." His head bobbed once. "Have for awhile now. And, honestly, I don't know if I would have." He looked back into his friend's eyes. "She was the one who always brought it up; who told me, one day, I'd have to stop. Kate's the reason I'm here, in more ways than one."

He realized his slip and his eyes darted to hers. Allison gave him a small, but warm, grin. She shook off his hushed apology for the mistaken name again.

"Look," she decided, "I can't ask, and I don't expect, you to trust me. This is hard for me, too. I regret how we got here. I really do, but we _are_ here. I'm just trying to see _why_ we are." She gestured to Barnes. "I'm trying to see what came out of it. Good men came home. That's what happened, whether or not everyone is comfortable with how it happened. I've got my own demons to deal with, for what I've done and how, but none of them are any animosity, or anything else, about you.

"I won't stay where I'm not wanted," she assured him. "My goal is not to give you, or Nat or anyone else, anymore shit than you've already been through." Barnes shifted, straightening a little as his ears seemed to prick at the solidity of the idea of her leaving, but she went on. "All I ask is to be able to stay, until I know what Fury decides will happen with Brock."

"How can you still be so loyal to him?" Rogers wondered, with a critical squint in his eye.

"He called you for help," she firmly reminded them. "You ever wonder why that phone rang? He knew you had my gear in that truck and you had that phone." She looked at Rogers. "He knew you were there that day. I told him." She turned her gaze to Barnes again. "He didn't turn me in and he didn't try to stop me. He led me straight to you. He knew who I was using to get you out. He helped me get you out.

"Don't for one second think that the reason HYDRA didn't come to knock down this tower for their Asset was because they were afraid of the Avengers," she assured them both. "Believe me, they're not. It's because he didn't tell them where you were."

She looked them both in the eye, waiting. There wasn't an argument or challenge from the other side of the table, because Allison knew there wasn't one to make.

"That doesn't change the fact that he, for _years_ , tortured and used Bucky," Steve needlessly reminded them. "He had countless opportunities to let anyone know Bucky was still alive and where to find him."

Allison took the chance and turned to Barnes, knowing what Brock had told her, asking, "Was that the case? Could he have done any better?"

Barnes had both of their attentions and inhaled slowly, holding his breath as he seemed to take a moment to consider his answer. With an almost imperceptible sweep of his head, Barnes decided, "No."

Allison's frame softened a little at the almost unexpected agreement. Rogers bristled at the idea. She could see the tension building in his jaw, as he gave his friend an incredulous once over.

She knew Barnes saw it as well, looking at Allison to still answer her question while he explained to Steve, "He couldn't have. I don't see a way he could have done anything more for me than he already did, not without sacrificing himself or the people he knew were loyal to SHIELD and not until he had her help again. The only reason I'm here is because of you two," he told Allison. "With the triggers in place, any one who knew the Program could have used me to stop Rumlow or a rescue. All they had to do was give an order, even if you or SHIELD knew where to find me. There was nothing else he could do."

"Bucky," Steve argued, "you can't tell me that Rumlow-"

"But he did." Barnes insisted, admitting, "There was something different about him. He did a lot of things, but he didn't do everything the others did; that they would let him or wanted him to do. Rumlow-" Barnes stopped, swallowing before he could say it. "He tried to look out for me."

Rogers blinked, plainly dumbfounded by what he heard. "Buck, come on."

"I don't know how else to explain it," Bucky shook his head, "but there's things he did different, things nobody else did. He fought them; kept things out of mission reports. It kept me out of cryo and off the machine. Not always, but sometimes, just a few more hours or a day. I remember things he did." His head bowed, slightly, recalling, "There was a mission in Lom. On exfil, we took a hit on takeoff. We didn't make it past the mountain. Most of the team survived, but I was tore up pretty bad."

He looked up at Rogers. "The weather turned on us fast. We were on the side of that mountain for 17 hours. Rumlow didn't sleep. He kept the men on watch rotation and fed. And he kept a steady line of Hextand running on me for three hours, 'til the supply was gone and I wasn't blue anymore. When I came around, I was talkin' nonsense; something about you and the war." Barnes swept his head. "He should have given me the trigger and stopped the break down. ...I should have been given the trigger, but he left me alone. I should have gone back to the machine, the minute we were recovered, but he didn't tell them that I remembered you."

"I don't believe what I'm hearing," Rogers said quietly, slowly shaking his head.

"It's true," Allison assured him. "Look at the files he gave us. See for yourself. It's all there."

Rogers wiped a hand down his face, turning his gaze up to the ceiling and inhaling a slow, deep breath. "You're asking me to believe Rumlow's some kind'a saint?" He looked back across the table to Allison, wondering, "And what am I supposed to think about you?"

"I'm no angel," she accepted. "I did the best I could, for myself; for what I wanted. And I've lost damn near everything for what I did; friends, my home, my career. I've explained everything, in painstaking detail. There's nothing else I can say. But, after all of that, I know I'd do it all again, because I can't see a better way."

She gave a shake of her head, saying, "I know what it looks like and I know what it did, but I'm done apologizing for it. The only apology I owe anymore is to the ones that didn't make it home. Someday, I'll figure out how to make peace with that. But today? Today, I promise you that I never meant for any of this to happen, that I have nothing left to hide, and that I'll give you Stovall, so you understand that Brock's making you the same promises and you'll see for yourself what the truth is."

He studied her for a moment, before asking, "Why did you do it? That day in the cafeteria, why did you come over?"

Allison was surprised by the hurt the question gave her and she nodded, understanding why he would ask. "Because I didn't like seeing you sit there all alone like that," she told him. She shook her head, adding, "I didn't do it because someone told me to, if that's what you think it was. I just thought, maybe you'd like a friend." Rogers looked her over, and she added, "You think HYDRA told me to help decorate your apartment or let you borrow movies? You think they'd give a shit about seeing a play at Ford's or beers at Barny's? I wasn't spying on you. For anyone. I was just trying to be your friend." She gave a small shrug. "That's all."

"Some friendship," he wearily scoffed, "trying to kill me."

"That day in Washington?" she balked. "All I knew was there was a hostile in the building and then that someone was attacking my guys. You ever stop to think how bad that fucked me up, seeing it was you? Watching you beat the shit out of Mick and my team; _my brothers_? What was I supposed to do? _Let_ you? Come on. Do you really think if I wanted to kill you that I'd be too stupid to shoot at anything else but that damned shield?

"...You could have killed me," she reminded him. "You even told me you regretted not doing it when you had the chance." Allison sat forward, leaning onto the edge of the table. "You think there aren't days I wish you had?" From the side of her eye, she saw Barnes bow his head, and she watched Rogers' expression flinch. "That it wouldn't have been better than being alone; in hiding because either side I could go to would call me a traitor and lock me up or kill me?" She straightened up in her seat again. "Don't think for a second that what I did was easy for me. I don't blame you for not trusting me. But you weren't the only one who was lied to. You told me once, you'd always have my back." Allison stood up. "Sometimes we have to do bad things, but it's for the right reasons," she noted. "You told me that, too."

There was no noise in the room, as Allison left. The only sound was her footsteps and the door opening and shutting behind her.


	72. Chapter 72

July 2015

"How'd it go?"

Allison stood up from her lean down into the fridge. She glanced over at Natasha, coming down the stairs, her footfall as quiet as a whisper. Allison reached into the refrigerator, taking out a bottle of beer to go with the sandwich she made. Bumping the fridge door shut with her hip, Allison picked up her plate and headed upstairs.

"That good, huh?" Natasha dryly quipped behind her, as Allison climbed the steps. She called up after her, saying, "Don't be mad at me, Al." Her voice turning down, as she added, "He asked me to help."

She almost didn't hear the muttered excuse, when she reached the top of the staircase. Allison paused, giving a small sigh of resignation. She looked back down into the common area below, but Natasha had already turned her back to go to the kitchen. Allison shook her head, starting down the hallway for her room again.

Sept 2013

Rumlow called Allison up to the front of the formation. Ahead of her, Rogers was just steadying Dennison, after he dropped down from unscrewing the cover over a ventilation shaft about 12 feet overhead, with the aid of the Captain's lift. Emery balanced the vent cover against the wall and Haney prepared the charge to blow the facility's mainframe and servers room.

"Ah, there's the tunnel rat," Haney smiled.

"What?" Allison frowned.

"In ya go, Mouse," Rumlow ordered, with a jut of his chin up to the opening in the wall.

"I swear to god," Allison shook her head, "if I find out the reason you brought me along was to stuff my ass into that tiny-"

"Well, none of us are gonna fit," Rogers pointed out, with a crooked smile.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," she complained.

"We don't have all day, Princess," Jack pointed out.

Muttering to herself, she passed off her rifle to Dennison and began to strip down her gear. Her grumbling at the situation didn't stop Jack from chuckling at her obvious irritation, and she threw him a dirty look for it. She stripped off her armor to be able to move more comfortably in the confined space above her.

"Hey, that's pretty funny," Dennison considered.

"What is?" Emery wondered, shouldering Addams' pack for her for later.

"Mouse..." Dennison tried to lead them all on. "Princess? It's like a Disney movie."

"Oh, ha fuckin' ha," Allison rolled her eyes, down to just her gun belt and pistol strapped to her leg.

"What was the one where she had, like, a rodent army?" Haney asked.

"A rodent army?" Rogers questioned. "In a _Disney_ movie? Don't think I've seen that one."

"Yeah," Haney nodded. "They did her chores and shit."

"There's no rodent armies in Disney movies," Allison rolled her eyes, pulling on her gloves, and a few of the guys chuckled.

"Yes, there was," Emery wrongly agreed. "The Rescuers."

"They _were_ mice," Brock disagreed, and Jack looked a little dumbfounded the conversation was even happening. "Nobody had them as an army. Doesn't count."

"Are you shittin' me, right now?" Rollins groused, giving his fire team an incredulous look.

"It was, uh, Snow White. Wasn't it?" Dennison figured.

"Those were dwarves, numb nuts," Emery corrected.

"Sleeping Beauty?" Haney offered, but then shook his head. "No. She had those fairy godmothers, or whatever."

"Are you- _Seriously_?" Allison balked, looking across the faces of the elite operators. "Four of you idiots have kids," she reminded them, throwing up a hand in frustration. "Haney, you have two girls. How do you guys not know this?" He shrugged, handing her the explosive to stash on her belt. "It's Cinderella, you morons," she groaned. "And she didn't have a rodent army."

"Whatever you say, Princess," Jack smiled, apparently glad someone finally shut them all up. "Now, get your ass in the vent."

Rollins laced his fingers together, bracing his back against the wall, and Allison put her hands on his shoulders and her right boot in the cradle of his hands. "I fuckin' hate all of you," she promised, while Jack gave her a quiet three count before boosting her up the wall to grab the frame of the vent opening.

"Might wanna lay off the cheese there, Mouse," Jack smiled, tipping his head back to see up the wall overhead and pushing his hand up under her boot to help her along. He chuckled when the toe of her boot tapped the side of his head for the jab at her weight. She knew he knew he deserved that.

"Up ya go, Cinderella," Brock smirked and Jack turned around to watch Allison pull herself into the vent opening.

"That makes you idiots my rodent army," she noted, from inside the ventialtion shaft.

Rollins and the Captain laughed when she peeked back out of the vent and her gloved hand reached out to flip them all off. Rumlow ordered her to give a radio check, while the team moved on to their secondary position, and Allison went to work.

July 2015

Allison frowned, tipping her head to touch the edge of her door. Her eyes ran down the remorseful looking super soldier at her door, as she asked, "Now what?"

"I had to get you two to talk," he shrugged. "You weren't going to do it willingly. What else could I do?" She had no remark to make, still feeling a little betrayed by the ambush, and Barnes seemed to catch on. "Look, it worked, didn't it? Got you two to sit in the same room and talk."

She sighed, her eyes closing in a long blink. "Did you wanna come in?" she tiredly offered, sweeping her hand out toward the room behind her.

"No," Barnes shook his head. "Just wanted to say, sorry for tricking you."

Allison straightened up from her lean on the door, giving him a small nod of appreciation. "Thanks," she accepted.

"You doing anything?" he wondered, peeking to try and look past her shoulder. Bucky settled back on his heels, jerking his thumb toward the end of the hall and the common area downstairs. "Everyone's watching a movie. Barton said something about Tombstone? I don't know. He said to call you a yellow-bellied cur, if you didn't come down. ...His words, not mine." He paused a beat, adding, "Come on."

She couldn't help the quiet snort that escaped her and she shook her head. "It's a classic," she conceded, stepping out into the hall and pulling her door shut behind herself.

Barnes took a step back, giving her room. "Is it any good?" he wondered, walking along with her down the hall.

"Oh, it's good," she assured him. "You'll like it."

"He said, if you weren't going to come down, to tell you there was pizza," Barnes mentioned.

"That would have worked," she chuckled, starting down the stairs, a little happy for the news, since her sandwich from a couple hours earlier wasn't holding her over very well.

Below, settling in to the couches and chairs around the large coffee table, were most of the Avengers. The smell of the pizza, plated up in everyone's hands, wafted into the air. A large screen and a projector had been lowered from the ceiling at the end of the room. Downstairs, Allison and Barnes headed to the kitchen to get some food for themselves and something to drink.

"Knew you couldn't resist," Clint smugly noted.

"Don't be proud of that," Allison told him. "No one can resist young Kurt Russell and free pizza."

"Ain't that the truth," he agreed, wagging up his brow.

With her late dinner in hand, Allison looked over the seating options on her walk to join the rest of the group. Natasha sat up, tucking her feet under her to open up the couch she had been stretched out on. Rogers pulled back his kicked out legs from underneath the coffee table to let Allison pass, instead of her going the long way around the end of the coffee table. She nodded her silent thanks, as she went by. He returned a nod in welcome.

Allison sat down on Natasha's couch. The Russian poked the side of her leg, with the toe of her socked foot, smiling when Allison looked over at her. A moment later, Barnes took a seat near Rogers and Barton called for JARVIS to turn down the lights and start the movie.

When it was over, Allison and the others policed up their dishes and empty drink bottles. She noted the time on the clock on the stove and excused herself to bed. She didn't admit it, but she still wasn't sleeping well and, although 11 o'clock on a Saturday night shouldn't be late, Allison was more than ready to call it a night. She sarcastically nodded along, as Clint teased her on her way up the stairs, calling her an old lady. She'd suffer the lighthearted name calling, if it meant getting a good night's rest. She was surprised to hear Steve's voice, comparatively quiet as it was, among the calls of "good night" from behind her.

In her room, Allison changed into a t-shirt and shorts to sleep and looked over the twinkling city view outside her window. She sat down on her bed, crossing her legs and hugging a pillow in front of her to lean on. She thought on everything that had happened in the day. She planned to see Brock in the morning, after she stopped by the infirmary to have her dressings changed and wounds inspected. Beyond that, she had no idea how anything would go. 

In a way, it should have been relaxing to not have anywhere to be. In a way, it was frustrating. She told herself they weren't making a move to get Stovall because the team was gathering intel before the raid. But she had her doubts that they'd even go at all or that she would go with them. It could have just been posturing, when the Captain said he would take Allison along. 

"Trouble sleeping?"

"Yeah," she quietly admitted, mumbling against the pillow at her chin. 

"Army used to say we only needed 4 hours."

"We're not in the Army anymore," Allison frowned, "are we, Jack?"

"That's for damned sure," he chuckled. She watched his reflection in the window move across the end of her bed, as he told her, "Hell, even SHIELD had a 6 hour minimum on the books for sleep."

"The good old days," she sarcastically mused, with a hint of longing in her voice.

"You used to be able to sleep anywhere," he reminded her. "Could pass right out on the deck of the jet, even with turbulence. So, what's the problem?"

Allison shook her head, the motion burrowing her chin a little deeper into the pillow, muttering, "I don't know. ...It's all different now. Everything's changed."

"You should sleep easier now," Rollins told her, leaning his shoulders back into the wall and comfortably crossing his arms to study her.

"I should," she couldn't argue. "But..." Allison flipped up a helpless hand, letting it fall in her lap. "Here we are."

"Too bad Mick and the guys are gone," he smirked. "They could've done their best Chantal Kreviazuk cover for you, sang you right to sleep."

She was surprised that she'd smile at anything he had to say, but she did. A faint grin of fondness tugging into the corner of her mouth to say, "Oh, babe, I hate to go."

"Those were the days, eh, Princess?" he chuckled. "Off to war and smiling about it." Jack's smile thinned to a thoughtful frown, as he swept his head. "You won't get that back."

Allison picked her head up from her pillow, looking from his reflection in the window to the wall beside her dresser, but he was gone. She glanced back to the window. The only reflection in the room was her own. 

Opening her eyes, Allison was still alone. The sun was barely changing the color of the sky, and she was still exhausted. Allison wiped her hands up and down her face, taking a deep breath. Flipping aside the covers, she got up, heading for the door and grabbing the sweatshirt off the end of the bed as she went. Walking barefoot through the tower, she paid no attention to the armed men watching her go by, as she let herself into Brock's room.

He was awake.  Sitting on the side of his bed, one leg tucked underneath him and his attention on inspecting the faint remnant of the scars from his bullet wounds. Rumlow looked up at the door opening. He watched her shut the door, with a warm grin, and glanced up at the clock on the wall. His face slipped to a frown, seeing her walk over, apparently picking up on the tiredness in her eyes.

"How long you gonna keep trying to bullshit me about how you're sleepin', Addy?" he asked.

She didn't have an answer and shrugged, giving a small sweep of her head. He didn't press. He just nodded, his lips pulled tight with a disapproving, but understanding, nod. Rumlow reached out, taking her hand, as her fingertips distractedly tapped at a fold in the sheets on his bed. 

"C'mere," he gently told her, giving her a guiding pull toward him.

Brock stood up, shifting himself to turn, as she came closer. He sat back on the bed, scooting back across the mattress to lie down and leaving a space for her. Allison climbed in beside him, nuzzling her cheek to the corner of his pillow, as she inched back into his chest and he wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight.

The kiss he pressed into her shoulder lingered there, for a long moment. "Go back to sleep, Sweetheart," he quietly said. "It's still early."


	73. Chapter 73

Apr 2013

"Allison."

She could hear him. She just couldn't see him.

"Addy."

She sat up like a shot, chest heaving, eyes wide, and heart racing. Allison startled, flinching away at the hand that came carefully to her arm. But he didn't let her go. Brock's hand followed her away, taking hold of her recoiled wrist and pulling her arm back down to him.

"Eeeasy, sweetheart," he soothed, holding her hand and cupping his free hand to the side of her neck to steady her and turn her face to see him. "You're alright."

Allison looked around the room, her breaths still shallow and fast. Everything was familiar, but alarmingly foreign. It was dark still, but there were windows now that let in the moonlight. The bed beneath her was warm and soft. The room was large now and there was a subtle hint of lavender in the air. She realized the scent was on her skin, nervously dropping her free hand from her face, not understanding why the air had been stale and damp only moments ago.

Rumlow's fingertips turned her chin to see him again, as he gently promised, "You're alright, Addy." He smoothed away the hair fallen across her sweat dampened brow. "Look at me, baby," he told her, and she did, her eyes still a bit wide. "You're home; in DC. You're in you're apartment. You're safe. I'm right here." Allison nodded, swallowing a breath. "Good. Tell me where you are."

"I'm home," she repeated. "This is my apartment."

"That's my girl," he smiled, easy, turning up her hand to brush a kiss into her palm.

Allison let out the breath she'd held onto and leaned into his side. Brock cradled her head to his shoulder, squeezing her tight when she reached up to curl her hand around his neck to hug him back. He pressed a kiss into her hair, holding her close until he felt her relaxing again. He loosed his hold of her enough for her to sit up when she was ready. She dragged the side of her finger under her eyes and Rumlow's thumb drew a calming line up and down the nape of her neck, grounding her again.

"You okay, sweetheart?" he worried. "What happened?"

Shaking her head, she felt fear twist her gut when she couldn't remember. Her voice came in a cracked whisper, admitting, "I don't know."

The lines of concern in his expression deepened, as a stinging heat came to her eyes, and he pulled her back to him. "That's okay," he assured her. She belted her arms around him, tucking herself into the curve under his throat, as he quietly shushed her and gave the top of her head a lingering kiss. "You're safe, Addy. I promise."

There was a nervousness about her that was slow to fade. They sat there, hugged together in bed for a few quiet minutes. Brock gave her another squeeze, guiding her to sit up again when his hold gave way.

"What was that?" he asked, reaching behind them to square her pillow back along the headboard again.

Allison shook her head. "I can't remember. I don't-" She sighed, laying back down when he told her to. "I don't know, but it was- It was _so_ real. I'm sorry."

This one she couldn't remember. And, in a way, she was thankful. There had been a few that she recalled for awhile after she woke. Having one now, when Brock was there, was frightening in a whole new way. She hadn't told him about the nightmares that had started to creep in.

Settling back down beside her, Rumlow opened his arm to her and Allison turned into his side. "Don't apologize," he shook his head. It was quiet for a moment, before he noted, "You've been a little restless some of the nights we've been together, since you came home. How're you sleeping when I'm not around?"

The soft, and slightly shamed, sigh that Allison let out was probably enough of an answer by itself, but she confessed, "About the same."

"Better or worse than at the Farm?" he asked.

"About the same," she reluctantly repeated.

"All the time?"

"Some of the time," she meekly told him.

"You taking the medicine they gave you?" Brock gently pressed. Allison gave a small shake of her head and she felt the air leave him. "Addy-"

"I know," she winced, ducking her head a little further down his chest.

"If you know, then why aren't you following the doc's orders?" Rumlow wondered, and she could hear the restraint in his voice, concerned but trying not to scold.

"Because-" Allison paused, trying to find the nerve to say it. "Because I can't think straight, when I'm on it," she confessed. "I can't take it and still do what I need to d-"

"Then you tell them it's not working and find something else," he insisted. "I told you not to bullshit them, Addy."

"I'm sorry. I had to come home," she earnestly told him. "I couldn't stay there anymore, Brock, I- ...I wanted to come home."

Brock sighed, giving her a reassuring squeeze. "I know you did, baby." He paused, before saying, "But you can't do it like this. The guys out there, they know what they're doing, Addy. If they want you on meds, then you need to be on meds. Maybe just for a little while. I don't know, but you've got to trust them, sweetheart. They want you back on your feet as much as you do."

"Are you going to send me back?" she worried.

"No," he confidently said, holding her close. "I don't want to. I think you should be here, with your team; with your family. I want you home, with us. But sweetheart, you have _got_ to trust the process." Allison nodded her agreement and Rumlow gave her hand on his chest a soft pat. "You still got the pills?"

"Yeah," she said, withdrawing to her half of the bed, when he moved to get up. "Medicine cabinet-"

"Second shelf, yeah," Brock absentmindedly nodded, walking down the hall. "I know."

She grinned to herself at his knowing where to find it. In the hallway, Allison listened to his bare footsteps on the hardwood and saw the kitchen light creep along the wall. She listened to sounds of the cupboard door and faucet, as he got her a glass of water. The distant light went off and she heard him go into the bathroom and snap on the light switch. Rumlow came back a minute later, glass in one hand and a pair of medicine bottles in the other. Allison scooted up to sit in bed and Brock sat on the side of the mattress. He passed off the bottles and Allison shook out her prescribed dosage into her palm. Brock traded her the glass of water for her medicine bottles. He watched her swallow the pills and stood to return the bottles to the bathroom cabinet. Allison sipped on the water until it was gone, checking the alarm clock on the nightstand to see they had about four hours before the day began. Rumlow climbed back into bed and Allison set aside her empty glass on the bedside table to settle back into his arms.

"Skip your run and sleep in today," he told her. "I'm gonna tell Whitfield and Jack about this in the morning. I'll tell 'em you came to me about it before formation." Allison nodded. "If you or Whitfield think you need to talk to somebody, we'll get someone we can trust, okay? I'm gonna do what I can to keep you here, Addy, but I need you to help me out, okay?" There was a kind humor to it, when he said, "Having a nightmare an' freaking me the fuck out is not what I prefer you to wake me up in the middle of the night for, sweetheart."

"Sorry about that," she shyly smiled.

"It's okay," he promised, dotting a kiss into her hair. "Everything's gonna be okay."

July 2015

Allison had managed to fall asleep again, pretty quickly. When she woke up, breakfast had been brought in for Rumlow. It was sitting on the table, untouched. Brock was still in bed with her, waiting patiently for her to wake up. Allison looked back over her shoulder, shifting in his arms to see him a little better.

"Good morning, again," he quietly offered. 

"Good morning," she smiled back.

"Have a nice nap?" Brock asked.

Allison nodded, with a grin. "Best sleep I've had all year."

"Smartass," he smirked, dotting a kiss to her temple.

"I should get up," she said. "I meant to get my stitches looked at before I visited."

Rumlow pulled back his arm from around her waist, letting her sit up. He followed, a moment later, carefully wondering, "So, how'd you end up here first?" Allison pressed her lips together, shrugging. "Addy," he sighed, dropping his shaking head. His voice took on a subtle edge of irritation, as he asked, "We doin' this again?"

Allison slid off the bed, pulling the sleeves of his sweatshirt down over her hands. "I'm not doing anything," she shrugged again.

"Allison," Brock frowned, "don't-"

She swiped a hand his way, tiredly wincing away, telling him, "Don't start."

"I'm worried about you, Addy," he insisted, getting up to stand in front of her. "We've been here before."

"I'm okay," she earnestly promised. "It's just been a long week. I've been busy lately. I need a few days to settle into a new routine and I'll even out."

He looked her over, his arms stubbornly folded across his chest, as he shook his head. "Allison, I don't know who you _think_ you're talking to, but this bullshit ain't gonna fly."

She heard it in his tone, the evenness of a commander dissatisfied with a subordinate's response. She hadn't heard that kind of firmness in a long time, and certainly not directed at her. Allison wondered for a moment if spending the last year with HYDRA had made him harder than she remembered, but then she considered she deserved it for lying to him and thinking she could get away with it.

"I'm alright," she promised, with a sure nod. "I'm keeping an eye on it. I think it's gonna be alright." She made a small gesture toward him. "Hey," she almost optimistically offered. "I got you back. Nobody's tried to kill me for a few days. I can't complain, right? Besides, that Dr. Cho seems nice, ya know, I guess if I ever felt like I needed somethin'."

It took him a moment, but Brock's expression softened. "Fine," he relented, without sounding entirely convinced he should. 

Allison sighed, quietly begging, "Please, don't be mad at me. I'm trying, okay? I'll figure it out, I promise."

His rigid posture broke, the squareness of his shoulders lowering a fraction, as he dropped his hands and his head. "For fuck's sake, Addy," he gently complained, putting a hand on her arm to pull her into him. "I'm not mad at you, sweetheart," he promised. "Just don't push me away again. You got me and I just got you back, too. I'm just worried. I only see these minutes of you anymore." He bowed his head to hers. "I wish it was more. Maybe I'd feel better then, 'cause I see how tired you are, every day."

"I wish it was more, too," she weakly grinned, struggling with the idea of just telling him how rough her nights had been lately. But she couldn't find the words to make any of it make sense. Instead, she turned her head down to his chest, hugging him back when he held her tighter and kissed the side of her hair.

"Why don't you get yourself over to sick call," he told her. "See how those stitches look and get yourself some breakfast."

"Sorry," she apologized, stepping back and tipping her head toward the covered tray of food on the table. "Didn't mean to keep you from yours."

"Nah," he smiled. "Wouldn't be the worst meal I ever had. Besides, it was worth it to stay in bed a little longer."

Allison went back to her room, brushing her teeth and hair and putting on shoes, before going to the infirmary. She was trying to be more mindful of her healing wounds. She had given up on pain medication. A decision the medical staff didn't give her much grief over. The dull aches and tightness were manageable on her own. Dr. Cho was pleased to report that her injuries were healing well, since she'd stopped getting into scrapes with the security staff, she'd joked. Allison smirked at the doctor's point and was encouraged to hear she wanted Allison to come back in a couple of days to remove the staples and stitches. 

After she dressed and gave her thanks to the medical staff, Allison turned out into the hall to see Brock again. The SHIELD soldiers garrisoned outside his room had changed, but no one stopped or even questioned her going in. Brock was flipping through channels on the television, looking bored. He brightened at seeing her come in, and turned off the TV.

"Welcome back," he smiled, shifting to stand up from bed and meet her.

"Hello," she grinned, stepping into his arms for a tight hug.

"That was fast," he noted, dotting a kiss to her forehead, before they parted. "D'you eat yet?" Allison shook her head, ready to shrug off the idea, when Brock spoke up, saying, "JARVIS, order breakfast for the Lieutenant."

When the AI dutifully responded, Allison snorted, pointing up toward the disembodied reply. "Oh, you can just do that now?" she quipped.

Brock smirked. "It's just breakfast," he assured her. "I'm not asking for nuclear launch codes." He motioned for her to take a seat by the windows and he moved to join her, inviting, "Tell me some good news."

"Doc says the stitches can come out in a couple days," she nodded, with a confident grin.

"That's good," he nodded his approval. Rumlow changed the subject, checking, "Heard anything from Rogers about going after Stovall?"

"No," she shook her head. "Not yet. But I expect to soon. They won't want to wait long and give him a chance to move."

"Stovall's brilliant," Brock told her, "but he's a coward. Show him a gun and he'll walk right out the door with you."

"That's why he'll help Barnes?" Allison imagined.

"Exactly," he agreed. "He's a scientist, not a soldier. He can be cruel, but he'll do anything to save his own ass."

"You sure about that?" she wondered.

"I guarantee it," Rumlow nodded. "He might put up a brave front when you get him back here, but you can break him without breaking a sweat."

Allison batted her eyes, as if she were blushing, giving him her best southern belle to say, "You do flatter me, sir."

Brock chuckled, shaking his head at her humility. "Just tell him your name and I bet he pisses himself."

"Oh, yeah?" she marveled, plainly intrigued.

"There's talk about you," he confirmed. "Once you showed up with Barnes, and after you broke him out, there were all kinds of ghost stories going 'round about you." He gave her a nod and proud grin. "Everyone knows you were a Horseman. When you turned up alive, after almost a year off the grid, and with the Asset as your prisoner, you became a legend. I'd pay money to hear what they're sayin' now."

"You and me, both," she chuckled.

If they were any place else and in different circumstances, it might have been like old times, sitting together over breakfast. They laughed. He made a sarcastic comment about her having the nerve to wear his sweatshirt in front of him. She coyly offered him a chance to try and get it back later. They both shook their heads at knowing nothing would happen with armed guards outside and cameras in the room. After all, he was still a prisoner. But they both shared a shied smile at having the little moment to flirt.

When the kitchen staff was escorted in to retrieve the dishes, JARVIS told Allison she was wanted in the briefing room. She shared a look with Brock, both understanding it was time to collect Stovall. Rumlow stood up with her, reaching his hand out to take hers.

"He's a coward," he reminded her, "but he's still dangerous. He won't be alone and, if you get caught, they're not gonna let you take him."

"I know," she nodded.

"Be safe, Addy," Brock told her, pulling her to him to give her a kiss. "And if you can't be safe..."

"Be deadly," she promised.


	74. Chapter 74

July 2015

Allison pushed open the door to the briefing room. Inside, the Avengers team was just arriving and settling into the chairs around the large oblong table. The screens on the wall to her right were lit with images of Stovall, satellite reconnaissance, and the dossier on the doctor. Rogers stood at the far end of the table, a 3D image of a compound rendered in front of him. There was an empty chair near Natasha and Allison took it. When everyone was seated, the Captain began the briefing.

"Demetri Stovall," he announced, as a holograph of the man's photo and biographical info appeared in the middle of the table. "One of the lead researchers on the Winter Soldier Program, and our next target." Allison watched Barnes, from the side of her eye, for a moment, as Rogers went on. "Taking Stovall is our best chance to help Bucky and disrupt HYDRA's continuing work with the Program."

"Where do we find him?" Barton wondered.

"Here," the Captain said, touching a control panel on the table and expanding the compound model for everyone to see, "at a research facility in Dover."

"Delaware?" Wilson balked. "The head of HYDRA's brainwashing department's office is in the "liberty and independence" state?"

Barton snorted and Allison could smirk at the irony. But, ever stoic, Rogers went on with his briefing. The Captain outlined the plan to infiltrate the compound and locate Stovall, using information from Brock's tablet and from details the man himself provided. After all, he'd visited the facility many times in his role as the Asset's handler. When the Captain was finished, he opened the room to questions.

Barnes spoke up, saying, "Yeah, I got a question. How come Allison is here?" He threw her an apologetic grin, adding, "No offense."

She shook her head that there was none taken and was curious herself for how Rogers would explain the reason for her sitting in on the briefing. She was quiet, when he cleverly answered, "She has experience maneuvering around HYDRA facilities undercover, and she's the only one with HYDRA uniforms to do it with."

Clint chimed in, worrying, "Is that a good idea?" He motioned a hand toward Allison across the table, noting, "I mean, she's still got stitches."

"He's right," Natasha agreed. "She took some good shots after that crash."

Everyone's attention turned to her and Allison gently cleared her throat, sitting up a little to tell them, "I'm fine. It won't be a problem."

Barnes looked unconvinced, but didn't argue. Fury, who'd been silent throughout the meeting, sitting at Steve's right, sat forward to fold his arms to lean on the table and assure everyone, "If Lt. Addams says she's mission ready, she's mission ready."

The conversation was ended and Rogers concluded, "Liftoff is at 1630 hours."

Allison spent the next couple of hours with Brock, going over everything he knew about the facility in Dover. He walked her through digital floor plans that JARVIS displayed on the screen in his room, telling her what he knew of Stovall's schedule and routines. The man ran like clockwork and would be easy to predict. The only thing Rumlow couldn't be sure of was if Stovall was still in his lab or if HYDRA had had the foresight to relocate him and his staff, if even temporarily.

When she'd studied all she could and had answers and eventualities for all of her plan B's and what if's she could think of, Allison left to get her gear for the mission. She found Natasha in the kitchen, sipping on an espresso and talking to Barton in a hushed tone. Allison's appearance stopped the conversation.

"Hey," Allison said as greeting, looking between the two spies as she approached. "Where can a girl get some guns at around here?"

Natasha grinned into her next drink and Barton snorted, shaking his head. "I might have seen some laying around here," he suggested. "What'd you have in mind?"

"I prefer my own," Allison said, "if they're still around."

"In a locker in the armory," Natasha told her. "Downstairs."

"Probably has a lock I'm not supposed to pick," Allison figured and Natasha nodded.

"I'll take you," she said, twisting at the waist to set her cup on the counter.

"Al," Clint hesitantly began, looking at Romanoff as if for permission to keep going, before turning his gaze back to her. "We were just sayin', maybe you should sit this one out."

"Why?" Allison shook her head.

"For starters," he offered, "I bet if I smacked your arm, right now, you'd hit me in the face." Allison snickered, but he went on. "You should be resting. You walked away from a helo crash and a couple bullet wounds, and that's just in the last week. Don'tcha think you're tempting fate here?"

"Your odds go up, if I do this," she knew.

"It's not your fight anymore, Al," he reminded her.

"Fortis Fortuna adiuvat [Fortune favors the bold]," she shrugged.

While Barton rolled his eyes, Romanoff seemed to understand. "Qui desiderat pacem, praeparet bellum [Let him who wishes for peace prepare for war]."

"Qui nimium probat, nihil probat [One who proves too much, proves nothing]," he frowned. "See? I know ominous Latin phrases, too." He threw a hand up at Natasha, complaining, "What the hell? I thought we agreed."

Natasha shrugged. "She's right," she admitted. "The odds go up, with her." She gave Allison a quick once over. "You wouldn't do it, if you didn't think you could, right?"

"I'm fine," Allison promised.

May 2013

"You get a call out, or somethin'?"

"Hm?" Allison played dumb, turning around from picking up her keys.

"You look like you're going somewhere," Brock noted, gesturing toward her with the kitchen towel in his right hand. "D'I miss a phone call?"

"No, I...just," she shrugged, fumbling for an excuse. "It's getting late is all."

"You tired?" he wondered, tossing the towel back through the kitchen doorway and coming down the hall to meet her near the door. With a tip of his head, he reminded her, "The bed's right up there."

She tittered. "Yeah, I know. I just thought I'd sleep at home tonight."

Rumlow didn't respond right away. He nodded, instead, giving a thoughtful look between the stairs and her. "I see." 

"I wanted to get in a little early tomorrow," she excused, slipping on her jacket for the rain outside. "I've still got a couple evals to-"

"Stop," he shook his head, his eyes closed in a long blink. She started to protest, but Brock put up a hand and insisted, "Just...stop the bullshit, Addy, okay? I know what you're doing."

Innocence ghosted through her grin, as she shook her head. "What am-"

"You're gonna go sleep at home again," he told her, "so I won't see if you have a nightmare tonight." The small smile fell from her face and he pressed, "It's been a little while, hasn't it? Maybe you're thinking, it's about time for one." Allison's head lolled to the side, her eyes going to the ceiling in growing irritation. "You've snuck out 'a here three times the last couple weeks. You practically lived her before this happened, for Christ's sake. You think I wouldn't notice you staying at home a little more?"

"What's the big deal?" Allison wondered. "So, I spent an extra night or two at my place."

"The big deal," he stressed, "is you hiding from me. It's you lying about what's going on."

"It's not like that," she disagreed.

"That's what it looks like," Brock assured her. She dropped her head, working her jaw in frustration, and he wiped a hand down over his mouth, his hand on his hip and eyes flicking to the ceiling in his own frustration. "I don't want you running away," he told her. "You don't have to figure this out on your own. You're safe here, Addy. You know that."

"I know," she nodded. "But it's not your problem. It's mine. I'm the one who's fucked up. You don't need to be kept up at night or worry about me."

“You’re not fucked up.” Brock stepped closer, dipping his head to see her eyes when she looked away. "This happened to you, but isn't who you are," he assured her. "You're better than this; stronger. You'll beat this, like you've beat everything else this life has given you. You're not alone, Addy. Me and Jack, Mick and the boys... We're all here for you. You don't have to be alone. I'm not gonna turn my back on you, no matter how hard you think this is." He put a finger under her chin to turn her face up to his. "I love you, Addy. Don't go. Stay here. I promise, it's going to be okay."

July 2015

In her room, Allison laid out her gear along the side of the bed. She dressed in one of the HYDRA uniforms she'd taken from the bunker months ago. Braiding back her hair, in the bathroom, Allison frowned. Turning her chin in the sunlight coming from the end of the room, she touched the bruised skin, fading but still obvious. It would draw attention. Attention she didn't need walking through a HYDRA compound.

Allison didn't keep makeup on hand. It wasn't a necessity and the less she had to carry, the easier it was to move around. Besides, she wasn't trying to impress anyone, not for a long time. She shook her head at herself, thinking of how long it'd been since she remembered getting dressed up for any reason. She was a little embarrassed, raising her hand to knock at Pepper's office door, after the secretary had said she was available.

"Allison, hello," Pepper smiled, from behind her desk, moving to stand and come around to greet her. "What can I do for you?" Pepper motioned for her to sit and Allison took the offer, as Pepper leaned casually against her desk, crossing her ankles in front of her. "I see you're ready to go to Dover with the team," she noted.

"It's kind of ridiculous, really," Allison conceded.

"What is?" she gently pressed, her brow wagging up in curious concern.

"I, uh-" Allison awkwardly laughed, shaking her head. She waved her hand up at her face, meekly noting, "I need to cover this up, but I don't have anything. Natasha's never been much of a girly girl either, and I was wondering if maybe you-"

"Oh, of course," Pepper breathed in. "Oh my god." She shook her head, straightening up to walk behind her desk again, rambling, "I didn't even think about it. Of course, there's all kinds of things you'd need. Why didn't I think of-"

"It's just for today," Allison assured her, putting up her hands to stop her fussing, but Pepper was already pulling a makeup bag out of her purse. "Just some concealer, or something, so I can blend in. This,” she motioned a her jaw again, “kind of draws attention.”

"Here," Pepper insisted. "Come with me."

Allison got up to follow her into the private restroom attached to her office. Pepper snapped on the lights and motioned where Allison should stand, putting her hands on her shoulders to adjust her just so. While Allison stood still, Pepper unpacked a few items from her bag. She worked for a couple minutes, blending and covering the stained skin on Allison's cheek and jaw, apologizing more than once if what she was doing hurt her. Allison asssured her, it was fine. The subtle aches and stings she felt were nothing compared to the humiliation she felt to even be asking for help like this and for letting Jack get the shots in on her to put her in this position in the first place.

When Pepper stepped back to admire her work, she told Allison to look in the mirror. It was nearly perfect. There was still a trace of inflammation to the skin, but the skin tone was evened out. Someone would have to be in her face to see the difference. And for a moment, Allison felt confident again.

"Thanks," Allison shyly smiled.

Pepper looked pleased, but humbled by the praise. "Oh, don't thank me. I'm happy to help," she grinned, putting away her things. "This might be the closest I'll ever get to helping with a mission."

Allison checked her watch and dismissed herself, with another parting word of thanks. She hurried back to her room, strapping on her belt and weapons. She made one final inspection of herself in the full length mirror on the inside of the closet door. Everything looked like it did before; when she was raiding HYDRA facilities before she found Brock and before Jack had left his mark. She took a deep breath, steeling herself to walk back into the lion's den, again.

Allison stepped out of the elevator, walking alone across the bay floor. Ahead of her, the others were gathered near the Quinjet. Barton headed up the jet ramp, when he saw her coming. A few panels of instruments lit up in the cockpit, as she saw him take a seat in the copilot's seat and beginning the preflight checklist. She stopped to stand with the others, ignoring the mildly suspicious once over from Wilson.

"Everyone's clear on the plan?" Rogers checked. "Addams and Romanoff will infiltrate the facility. Nat, you secure transportation, while Addams locates Stovall. Barton's on overwatch with the Quinjet, ready to provide cover, if anything goes wrong. Sam and I will be standing by on the ground for the same. Once Stovall is secure, the Quinjet will escort Romanoff and Addams to the rally point and call out any tails. Rumlow will be in the TOC to provide any real time intel we might need. Any questions?"

"Yeah, one," Natasha said, with a quick raise of her hand. She turned to Allison, wringing a finger around the collar of the HYDRA uniform she'd borrowed from Allison's small supply. "How did you stand wearing one of these?"

"You get used to it," Allison shrugged, turning to board the plane.


	75. Chapter 75

July 2015

On the ground in Dover, Allison and Natasha split off from Rogers and Wilson. All four approached the edge of the tree line, separated by about 30 meters. Allison took out a pair of compact binoculars from her belt and scanned over the fencing of the unassuming compound. Set on the edge of the city, the collection of a few multistory buildings and a warehouse could have been any small business park. The security that manned the gate looked like any other corporate security, wearing ID badges and ball caps with their pistol belts, instead of HYDRA BDU uniforms. On its face, no one from the general public would have suspected any of the activities behind the typical gates and walls of a bioscience company were anything but for a legitimate purpose.

But Allison looked beyond the facade, spotting the heavier armed HYDRA security forces dotted around the compound in details of twos or threes. She watched for a long minute, trying to spot a pattern to their patrols. A quick headcount of what she could see told her there were more men on the post than they'd anticipated. The increased security wasn't enough to worry her though. It just meant she had to finesse her timing to get in between the perimeter patrols unseen. Unfortunately, Allison wasn't the only one who noticed. Passing the binoculars over to Natasha, the Russian picked up on it, too.

"There's a lot of activity," Allison mentioned into her mic.

"Looks like security is up," Romanoff agreed, handing back the binoculars to Allison, as Rogers ordered Wilson to deploy Redwing.

"Looks manageable from up here," Barton said. 

Allison set her focus on the loading dock of the warehouse. "I've got hazmat containers being unloaded," she noted. "Maybe biological."

"There's way too much activity here," Sam said, his worried tone making Allison shake her head to herself.

"Sam, how many?" Rogers checked.

"54. Looks like a mix of civilian and uniforms," Allison listened over the comms.

"They may be civilians," Rumlow noted, "but they all know who they work for and what they do there."

"There's a level of shielding that lines the buildings. I can't tell how many more may be inside or may be in the areas below ground. Son of a bitch sent us into a trap," Wilson growled. "They shouldn't be here."

"You just broke Barnes out of a Level 2 HYDRA facility," Rumlow dryly reminded them. "SHIELD raids the base 2 days later, right after a prison break and 7 senior agents defect. What did you expect? The fucking welcome mat at the door?"

"Oh, is this funny to you?" Wilson dared.

"Not at all," Brock disagreed, although Allison could detect the smirk in his voice. She hoped no one else did.

"We're not set up for this," Rogers decided.

"You've got four Avengers and one of my Horsemen on the ground," Brock pointed out. "How much more do you need?"

"We have no idea what's waiting in those buildings," Wilson persisted.

"There's too many soldiers," the Captain agreed. "This was supposed to be a grab and go."

"We need more help," Natasha said, "if we're gonna keep this quiet, but we can't wait around here for it."

"Steve, I can-" Barnes began to offer.

"No," Rogers cut him off.

"He's right," Brock concurred. "You don't want to be anywhere near that place."

Allison watched Rogers, across the short distance between them. She sighed, quietly, listening to the back and forth over the channel. This shouldn't be this hard.

"This is a set up," Rogers insisted. "You told us Stovall-"

"Stovall is there," Rumlow promised. 

"Sam?" Rogers checked.

"Intel's bad," Wilson said.

"Addy," Rumlow pressed, ignoring the Captain's concerns, "tell me what you see."

Allison shook her head, trying to ignore the agitated argument on the channel from Rogers and Wilson. "Everyone, just shut up," she hissed. "Wait." 

"We're backing out," Rogers ordered. "Addams, Romanoff- fallback."

Taking a slow scan over the grounds and buildings in front of her, Allison took a deep breath and nodded to herself. "I can still do this."

"Addams, we don't have the manpow-"

"I can do this, Cap," Allison assured him, looking to Natasha for any signs of agreement, but the redhead didn't give any indication either way. "He promised you Stovall."

The use of an old name wasn't lost on her, when Rogers persisted, "Al, the intel's no good. He lied to us."

"Tell me what you see, kid," Brock encouraged, steady and even, the way she used to hear him overseeing her ops from the TOC in the Triskelion. 

"These containers are coming in," Allison observed, "not out. Biological and nuclear markings."

"He's still there," Rumlow concluded. "Him and his staff."

"We're backing out," Rogers reiterated. 

"We're not leaving without Stovall," Allison maintained, taking count of the soldiers she could see, mapping out the timing in their movements. 

"We don't have the manpower for this," Romanoff swept her head. "We're too outnumbered to pull this off quietly, and that's just what we can see above ground."

"Bingo, you've been here before," Allison went on, willfully ignoring Rogers and reaching out for Rumlow's help.

"Tell me what you see and I'll walk you through," he promised.

"Allison..." Natasha warily warned, but Allison was already on her feet and headed down the hill.

"God dammit," Rogers muttered. "Addams, abort!"

Allison couldn't stop, even if she wanted to. She wasn't going to miss their chance to get Stovall and she needed the momentum of the slight down hill run. Closing on the wall ahead of her, Allison leaped, running a step up the 10' wall and hooking her hands onto the top to pull herself up. Swinging her leg onto the top of the wall to slide over, Allison caught sight of Natasha behind her. Allison dropped her legs off the back of the wall, anchoring herself on her belly and reaching out a hand for Romanoff. Natasha made the leap and caught Allison's hand, scrambling up and over the wall as Allison dropped down on the other side. Crouched against the wall, Allison took a look around, making sure they hadn't been spotted, as Natasha fell in beside her.

"He's gonna be so mad at youuu," the Russian quietly sang, checking around them.

"We're in," Allison confirmed into her mic, standing up and giving the front of herself a quick once over.

"I see you," Brock acknowledged. "Building C- Charlie, at your 2 o'clock."

Dusting away a smudge of dirt from the wall off her leg, Allison started walking toward the building Stovall's lab was in. Natasha moved with her, splitting off toward the warehouse, and what Brock had described as a combination of storage and a motorpool for the facility inside. Allison moved confidently, following Rumlow's directions to guide her down the side of the building to a double door entrance. She entered the building code on the keypad, but the lock didn't open.

"8-5-3-3-0," she softly checked, and Brock confirmed the code. "Code's bad," she shook her head.

Allison checked left and right before dropping to a knee and pulling a thin screwdriver from the pen pocket on her left sleeve. While Rogers was ordering her to abort, again, uselessly noting the code had been changed, Allison was already prying the panel out of its housing for the electronic lock on the door. She asked for a minute, as she traced a pair of wires from the panel to the building. Just as Wilson was saying she didn't have time to pick the lock, Allison shorted the circuit board by pulling a wire and the lock clicked open. 

"Got it," she quietly announced, wedging her screwdriver into the door frame to keep the lock open, while she reset the panel into its frame.

"She got lucky," Sam grumbled, in her earpiece.

Allison slipped in the door, closing it gently behind her, as Rumlow assured everyone on the channel, "It's not luck." A grin flashed over her lips, encouraged by Brock’s unending confidence in her.

"I'm in," Romanoff advised. "Standing by."

"First turn is 30 feet ahead, on your left," Brock said. "Cross the lobby and there's a stairwell on the right."

"She's got to cross a lobby?" Wilson balked.

"She'll be fine," Rumlow promised. "She'll look like she's been there all day. They won't think twice about her, if she's not coming in the front door."

Just like he said, the two guards stationed at the lobby desk were remarkably unconcerned with Allison. Both men even gave a halfhearted nod in reply to hers as she passed. Allison caught a break, coming to the stairwell as someone was coming out. She wouldn't have to worry if that code had been changed. She gave the man a polite grin and a word of thanks, when he held the door behind him open for her to pass through.

Allison followed the turn by turn directions Rumlow fed her through her earpiece. She felt a small knot in her belly, the deeper she went in the building and the more people she passed. She noted the extra cameras in the halls and the heavier security on doorways, as she went. Allison muttered a couple landmarks for Brock to use to verify she was heading in the right direction, and continued through the building.

Allison halted, mid-step, her breath hitched, seeing the pair of men coming down the hall. The small gasp must have been audible, because Brock instantly asked what was wrong. Allison turned down to the water fountain on the other side of the hall, taking a breath to steady herself as she drank. From the side of her eye, she confirmed, it wasn't him. His eyes were blue, not green. His voice was deeper and there wasn't a scar on his jaw. But the uniformed man could have been Jack's brother, if he had one.

"Addy, talk to me," Rumlow insisted.

"Nothing," she finally whispered. She gave a subtle shake of her head, assuring herself, "Wasn't him."

"You're almost there," he calmly told her. "You should be coming to a T-intersection. Go right, and Stovall's office is on your right."

Making the turn, Allison saw the small, bronze plaque on the wall marking the doctor's office. She put her ear to the door, listening for a moment before trying the handle. It was quiet and the door was locked. Allison put her shoulder and hip into the door, popping the lock to slip inside. She wasn't surprised to see the office empty. She reported she was alone and crossed the office to Stovall's desk.

Opening a few drawers, Allison noticed a cell phone and set of keys together. "He's still here," she decided.

"It's almost 5:30," Rumlow noted. "He should be done soon."

"I'll wait," Allison smirked.

"Is there anything of any value in the office?" Rogers asked. "Notes, a computer..."

She snorted to herself, pulling a thumb drive out of her pocket, as she sat down in Stovall's chair and Brock sarcastically wondered, "Oh, _now_ you wanna see if she's a good spy?"

"I'm already on it," she distractedly said, typing new lines of code to try and crack Stovall's password and HYDRA’s network security.

"Don't waste too much time there," Rumlow advised her. "Keep your eyes and ears on that door."

Brock's advice was good. Only a couple of minutes later, Allison heard the scrape of a key in the lock and saw the narrow shadows of someone on the other side of the door in the sliver of light on the office floor in front of the doorway. Allison popped up out of the chair, grabbing the thumb drive and sprinting to press herself along the wall beside the doorframe. She held her breath, hearing the voices of at least two men chatting, as the handle turned and door opened. 

Allison recognized Stovall from the photo with his dossier. He didn't notice her, after he'd snapped on the office lights and walked through the door, leaving it open for his colleague to follow him in. When the second man swung the door shut behind him, Allison moved, sliding up, silently, behind him to grab the man's forehead and jaw. In one swift movement, Allison twisted her grip, cracking his neck and dropping him to the floor in a crumpled heap. Stovall turned at the sound, his wide eyes drawn to the man on the floor, and froze behind his desk, jaw slacked in fear.

Drawing her pistol from its holster on her thigh, Allison stepped over the body on the floor, taking aim. "Dr. Stovall, I presume."

"Y-yes," he stammered, nervously shifting his gaze between his former colleague and Allison. "Who are you?"

"Allison Addams," she answered. "I believe I had an appointment with one of your colleagues. Dr. Yates?"

Stovall nodded. "They said you might come. Are you here to kill me, too?"

"No," Allison told him. "We're going for a ride."


	76. Chapter 76

Everything had gone according to plan. Everything happened exactly the way Rumlow said it would go. Despite the odds shifting out of their favor, Allison had done it. Just like Brock had told them she would. But Allison didn't feel good about it. As soon as the spies met up with the rest of the team at the rally point, with their target in hand, any sense of accomplishment was replaced with resentment at the dressing down waiting for her.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Rogers scowled. "Disobeying orders like that."

"We recovered the target," Natasha noted, on her way up to the cockpit.

"I told you to stand down," he pointed out, and glanced over his shoulder to make sure Romanoff knew she was the subject of his anger as well. "The intel was bad. You put yourselves, _and_ the rest of the team, in danger."

"We recovered the target," Allison repeated, with a firmness that Natasha's version lacked, leveling her eyes. "I delivered. And I'm not on your team, Captain."

Allison turned away, catching the disappointed look on Barton's face, as he and Wilson handcuffed Stovall and secured the doctor in a jumpseat for take off. Taking an open seat along the bulkhead, Allison slipped into the harness of her jumpseat, readying for take off. Cinching up the straps at her shoulders, Allison silently fumed. Around the cabin, the others took their seats, as Romanoff raised the jet's ramp and the engines whined back up to full power. Allison hazarded a glance across the way to see Rogers give her a hard look before turning his attention to the cockpit to tell Natasha and Clint everyone was ready to lift off. 

The rest of the short flight back to the Tower was relatively silent. When the Quinjet ramp was lowered in the hangar, a team of SHIELD agents was waiting to take custody of Dr. Stovall. Fury was on hand, turning his head to watch as Stovall was escorted past him. He stepped up to the end of the ramp, meeting Allison as she stepped out.

"I couldn't help but overhear," Fury casually excused, "there were some disagreements on this one, Lt. Addams."

"Couldn't help it, Sir?" she quirked up an incredulous brow.

Fury nodded a wordless greeting to the others as they deplaned together, telling Allison, "I was in the TOC with the others. I heard it all."

"I'm pretty sure we've settled that you can't write me up for insubordination," she said, "so, to what do I owe the pleasure of this forthcoming ass chewing?"

"I'm not going to chew your ass, Lieutenant," he swept his head. "You brought me Stovall, as promised. But I am disappointed at what I heard after that."

Allison nodded her understanding, her eyes ticking around to see where the others were. "Sorry, Sir, but I just don't think this is going to work out."

"There's an argument to be made that the idea was never tried," he countered.

"Maybe," Allison conceded. "But there's not much I can do about it."

"There is," Fury disagreed. "You can try to work as a team."

"Sir, I-"

"Lieutenant," he interrupted, "what I saw today was disappointing. I'll admit, it was pretty impressive, getting to see first hand what you'd been doing all this time on your own. You are, without a doubt, one of the best field operatives I have _ever_ seen. But I expected more from you. You have the potential to-"

"With all due respect, Director," Allison cut in, "however much potential you think I have, it's not going to fix what the real problem is here."

"I know you know how to follow orders, Lieutenant," he told her. "You're still taking them from Cmdr. Rumlow."

"And that's exactly why he'll never trust me," she assured him.

"There were two teams working today," Fury explained. "One with you and Romanoff and Rumlow. And then there was the others. Hell, I'll even say Barton was on your side. So, of the four Avengers who were there, you're batting .500. All I need to do is to get you to play ball with the others. Argue all you want about how you can't work together, but the mission _was_ still accomplished."

"Maybe I don't want to fight anymore," she offered.

"You're not a quitter, Lt. Addams," he assured her.

"No," she agreed, "but I'm tired."

Allison stepped around him, heading for the end of the large bay. She walked past Natasha and Clint, talking about and making some notations into a computer about the jet's performance. They both stopped, watching her as she went by without a word. Allison stopped, just before the door. She turned on her heel and walked back to strip off her gun belt to hand over to Romanoff.

"Wouldn't want anyone to worry," she muttered, before turning away to leave again.

Allison rode the elevator back to the medical floor. The guards were still posted at the end of the hall outside Brock's room. She paused to knock at the door before entering at Rumlow's invitation from inside. Allison went in, shutting the door behind her, with a small huff of frustration. Brock was waiting, seated by the window with his elbows on his knees.

"Congratulations," he grinned. 

"Yeah, thanks," she nodded once, her tone not sounding especially appreciative of his praise.

Brock frowned, standing up to meet her as she crossed the room to him. "I know," he sympathetically offered, folding his arms around her as she put her head on his shoulder and hugged him back, tightly. "I heard how it ended. But still, you got Stovall." Rumlow pressed a kiss into her hair, adding, "You did good, Addy."

"Everything went the way you said it would," she told him. "I walked right in and took him."

"You're done now, Addy," he told her, leaning back to cup a hand to her cheek when she looked at him. "You don't have to do anything else for them, you hear me?"

"I'm not doing anything else for them," Allison quietly assured him, nestling back to his shoulder. 

"You okay, sweetheart?” he gently worried, turning his face down to her ear, sliding his hand over to give her neck a few soothing rubs.

"I'm just a little worn out," she nodded.

"What happened back there?" Rumlow asked. "Who'd you see?"

Allison shook her head. "No one," she told him. "I just...thought someone looked like Jack, for a second."

He nodded, sliding his hand up to run his thumb along the nape of her neck. "Why don't you go get a shower, or somethin', huh?" Brock suggested. "Relax for a little bit. Come back and see me later, if you feel up to it."

Allison nodded again, turning her face up to his for a kiss. Brock dotted an extra kiss to her forehead and she finally cracked a small smile. She promised she'd be back later and went to her room. 

Allison looked up, when the elevator slowed to a stop and the doors began to open. She stopped, when her gaze caught Rogers paused mid-stride to stepping in to the car. He moved back, taking a step aside to give her plenty of room. She hadn't made it two steps, before he called to her from behind.

"What is it with you?"

Allison stopped again. Without an answer she turned around to see him, holding out her upturned palms with a shrug and letting her hands fall back to her sides with a soft slap.

"Did you even _think_ about what could have happened?" he begged, plainly still irritated. 

"It was a manageable risk," Allison countered, "and one that I'd taken before. Look at the payoff. I got you Stovall, like I promised. Like everything I’ve promised you.”

"And what if you or Natasha had been hurt or captured?" Rogers dared.

"I didn't ask her to come along," she stubbornly pointed out.

"That's why you don't deserve to be here," he scoffed. "Because you don't know how a team works anymore."

"I know h-"

"Then you would have known that she was going to follow you!" he snapped. "All you know how to do anymore is look out for one person. You don't know how a team works anymore, because you've spent so much time looking out for him that you've forgotten that other people were depending on you."

Allison blinked, and in the silence the look on Steve's face told her he realized what he'd said, too. "What? You're mad because I listened to Rumlow over you out there?"

"No," he argued. "Because you disobeyed orders and put yourself and the mission in jeopardy. It was reckless."

"You just can't get over me picking him instead of you, can you?" she persisted. 

He took a step forward, growling, "How can you ignore the things he's done? He's a monster."

"Not to me," Allison angrily promised. "Never to me." Her eyes raked up and down him. "You think you get to stand there and judge him, _or_ me? You think you came out of all of this clean? Because I've got news for you, bub. There's plenty of things you did in their name that nobody's hanging you for. You think it doesn't count, because of DC? That you get a pass for doing their dirty work, because you exposed HYDRA first and fought back?" She leveled her eyes at him. "What the fuck do you think he and I have been doing?!" 

"It doesn't change-"

"Yes, it does!" she cried. "Jesus fucking _Christ_. It changes _every_ thing! Don't you see? _Everything_ is different now. SHIELD fell, HYDRA is back, and hundreds of people died, on both sides- _friends_ died. Some of them we killed ourselves. So, don't tell me nothing's changed. The _only_ thing that never changed was how he took care of us! _We_ \- all of us," she insisted, pointing a finger back and forth between herself and the Captain, "you and me and Bucky. We're _alive_ because of what _he_ did. Not you. Not me. _Him_. You don't have to thank him, but don't blame him. Don't blame me."

"Everything okay up here?" Bucky asked, warily coming up the stairs and looking between them, with Wilson on his heels.

"He's fine," Allison sarcastically said, catching her breath. "As always."

Allison turned out of the conversation, continuing to her room. She slammed the door shut behind her, fuming all over again. Standing in the middle of her room, Allison scratched her fingers back into her hair, letting out a frustrated growl. She straightened up, tearing at the Velcro closures of her body armor and throwing it aside on the bed. With a huff, she sat down on the bench at the foot of the bed and pulled at the zippers on her boots. The breath fell out of her, as Allison slumped to rest her elbows into her knees and cradle her head in her hands. Some minutes later, there was a knock at her door. 

Allison sat up, wiping the heel of her hand over her eyes to dry them. She pulled off her boots and put them aside. She took a breath, before opening the door just wide enough for her to stand in and lean into the frame. 

"Yeah?" she asked, meeting Barnes' gaze. 

"Everybody's getting ready for dinner," he noted, pointing toward the end of the hall. "Natasha's ordered a bunch of food. It should be here soon."

"Thanks," Allison nodded. 

He paused for a second, before figuring, "You're not gonna come down, are you?"

"Fuck, I don't know," she winced. "What's the point?"

"Food?" he suggested. "You have to eat. It's already getting late."

"Look, I'm-"

"If you don't come down," he interrupted, "me or somebody else'll probably come up here and eat with you." Allison rolled her eyes, but Barnes literally only put one finger onto her door to push it out of her grasp and open. "It's not like you could stop me."

"Dick," Allison sighed, and Bucky smirked. 

"You need to eat," he insisted. "So, if you're gonna hide up here, you might as well do it with food and good company."

" _Good_ company?" Allison checked, bending the corner of her mouth into a small grin. 

"That stings," he deadpanned. He cracked a smile and pressed, "C'mon. Let's live dangerously and eat downstairs."

"For fuck's sake," she sighed, tipping her head against the doorway. 

His head cocked to mirror the tilt of hers, while he waited for a moment. Barnes' face fell, before he straightened up and mentioned, "I heard what you said to Steve." 

Enhanced hearing or no, she knew how loud she'd been, defeatedly conceding, "Of course you did."

"I think maybe he did, too," he mentioned. "Allison, if you just give it a-"

He stopped when Allison stood up straight, her eyes pointed over his shoulder. Barnes turned to see Rogers stopping behind him. Bucky shifted aside, turning himself to see them both. He looked to Allison who was staring back at the Captain. 

Without shifting his gaze, Rogers spoke up, saying, "Buck, would you mind if-"

"Sure," Barnes chimed in, giving Allison a nod and quick reminder. "Dinner. 15 minutes."

Allison gave him a subtle nod, her eyes tracking him as he stepped back and started down the hall. "Now what?"

He motioned to the door Barnes had pushed in, asking, "May I?"

Allison's brow wagged up in defeat, waving a hand at her room and grumblingly consenting, "Yeah. Whatever."

Rogers took a few steps into the room, waiting for her to shut the door. When they were alone, he noticed, "You haven't changed. Am I interrupting?"

"You know me," she sarcastically quipped, "comfortable in their uniform, too." His head cocked in disapproval of the comment.  "Besides, not like I've got much else to change into. I've basically got, like, four outfits, if I mix and match shit, but if it bothers you..."

"I don't care," he said. "I just thought-" Rogers shook his head. "Never mind. It doesn't matter."

"What do you want, Captain?" her exhaustion with him evident in her tone.

"I wanted to tell you, I'm sorry," Rogers told her. "For doubting you, for saying I wished I'd killed you- all of it." Allison was dumbfounded. "I can see why you did things the way you did. It got Bucky home and I'm grateful for that. I'm starting to understand why. I'm trying to, anyway. I see you coming through on every promise you ever made to me. And I'm sorry I didn't do the same for you.

"You're right," he nodded, "a lot of people have died. And I'm- Believe it or not, I _am_ glad you're not one of them. You used to be one of my best friends, Al. I didn't want to hurt you that day in DC, but I had no choice...and I'm sorry. I misjudged you, and I don't know what else I can do but apologize.

"Even for today," Rogers swept his head. "But, if something had gone wrong... We just got you back and, I know, Bucky'd never forgive me if I let anything happen to you. Nat or Clint, either." He gave a small nod, admitting, "I know it's too late, but I wanted you to know. You deserve that, for everything you've done; what you've been through to get here."

Letting go of the corner of her lip she'd bit into her teeth, Allison nodded, quietly accepting, "Thank you." 

Rogers nodded in turn. "You're welcome." He scratched a hand at the back of his neck. "Are you, uh- You gonna come downstairs?"

"Yeah, I guess," she shrugged.


	77. Chapter 77

July 2015

Pulling the door shut behind her, Allison tugged down the sleeves of her hoodie over her hands and turned for the stairs down to the living area. Just before the staircase, Allison heard a door shut and glanced over her shoulder to find the source of the soft, but hurried, footsteps behind her. Natasha came sliding up, her socked feet gliding her along the polished marble floor, until she grabbed hold of Allison's arm to stop herself. The redhead smiled and kept her arm hooked into Allison's, giving her a tug to move along.

"Dork," Allison shook her head.

"Whatever," Romanoff shrugged, starting down the stairs with her. "Got you to smile." Ahead of them, downstairs, the men were moving around the kitchen, talking amongst themselves and plating up food. "He wasn't too hard on you, was he?" she asked, nodding her head toward Rogers.

"No," she said. 

"Good," Natasha grinned.

Allison and Natasha joined the others, fixing plates and taking seats around the tables. There wasn't much conversation, at first. Everyone was too preoccupied with eating while the food was still hot. Allison felt a little more comfortable. At least, she didn't feel like she was being watched. 

"I think I still have my Delta sweatshirt," Clint mentioned, pointing at Allison with his fork, as he talked around the food in his mouth, "...somewhere. Maybe."

Allison snickered at his sudden lack of conviction and Natasha chimed in, "Probably not."

Sending her a frown, he told her, "You probably stole it."

Romanoff shrugged, innocently, taking another bite of food, before nudging Allison's elbow with her own. "We should track down your things," she decided. "Or go shopping, so you can give that sweatshirt a break."

"Gee, thanks," Allison smirked.

"Your stuff's probably still in DC," Barton offered. "I could fly you down and back, no problem."

"Yeah," she agreed. "I'd kind of like to see what I've got left."

"I'll check with Fury after dinner," Natasha promised, standing up, almost in unison with Clint, to get more food and leaving her at the table alone.

Steve and Barnes had finished and relocated to the plush furnishing of the living room after their meal. They sat on the far side of the room, talking between themselves. Wilson was just polishing off the last of his meal at the next table. From the side of her eye, she noticed him staring at her.

Allison sighed, closing her eyes for a long, tired blink, flatly asking, “What?”

There was a small pause before Wilson spoke up, asking, in a tone low enough to be heard just between them, “How’d you know how to pick that lock?”

Allison put another bite on her fork, with her eyes on her plate instead of him. “I spent 6 months fixing up an abandoned HYDRA bunker I found,” she said, matter of factly. “One of the first things I figured out how to fix was the locks, so no one could get in and try to kill me.”

She ate and Wilson nodded to himself. “Took a lot of balls, doin’ what you did today,” he conceded. “ _Stupid_...but ballsy.”

”Story of my life,” she told him, reaching for her drink.

From beside her, Wilson made a quiet snort, before gathering up his dishes and heading off to the kitchen. Natasha and Clint returned with their second helpings, picking up the conversation where they’d left off with Allison.

After dinner, Allison stopped at the top of the stairs, wringing her sleeve covered hands together, as she glanced down at the group gathering in the living room. None of them were going to bed yet, but Allison still felt a little uneasy. It hadn't even been two hours since she blew up at Rogers in the hallway, and she was still a little creeped out by Jack's doppelgänger in Dover. She had excused herself to go to bed. Nobody questioned it. On his way across the room, Rogers looked up, catching sight of Allison and stopping. He gave her a subtle nod and she replied in kind, before she started for the hallway again. Only, she didn't go to her room.

Allison continued on to the stairwell at the end of the hall, making her way to the medical floor. She was tired, but Brock had invited her back earlier and she wanted to see him. Turning down the hallway to Rumlow's room, Allison's stride slowed, instantly suspicious of the lack of security posted in the hall. Walking carefully to the door, she didn't hear any voices or other noise inside to say were the detail might be and, for a moment, she was afraid that Brock might have been taken somewhere. Her hand immediately went to the handle and opened the door to see for herself.

She let out a sigh of relief, seeing Brock slouched in one of the chairs by the window. He looked up, at her unannounced arrival, from the tablet in his hand. Rumlow smiled, putting the device aside on the arm of the chair.

His grin tilted, a little curious, when he looked her over and questioned, "You alright?"

"Yeah," she exhaled, with a bit of a shy grin. Allison stepped in, shutting the door behind her and making a limp gesture to the hall, explaining on her way to him, "I didn't see the security detail. I thought, for a second, maybe you weren't here." She tittered, correcting herself, "I was afraid you weren't here."

"I'm here," he assured her, sitting up and moving the tablet to the table by the chair, when Allison moved to curl up in his lap. Brock folded his arms around her, as she wrapped hers around the back of his neck. "You okay, sweetheart?" he gently asked.

Allison nodded, before answering, "Yeah. Just a little worried s'all." 

"You don't have to worry," Rumlow promised.

"I know," she admitted, her voice faltering a bit.

After a quiet minute, Brock reached up, smoothing a hand along her hair, realizing, "Today got to you." She didn't reply, and he carefully pressed, "Tell me why."

"Fuck. I don't know," she breathed, lifting her head to tilt over his shoulder and rest on the back of the chair and pulling her arms back into her lap.

"I read the debrief," he noted. "Saw the feed from the Quinjet. Everything was quiet. You only had to put down one man. Made a clean out." Allison nodded to it all. "Given the circumstances, it couldn't have gone any better." He touched her cheek, when she sighed and turned her head down to his own. "So, what's the problem, Addy?"

It took a moment for her to say, "Everything's just catching up. I'm just tired."

Rumlow let out his breath, slowly. He nodded, relenting, "Okay." He turned to plant a kiss into the top of her downturned head and gave her a gentle swat on the ass. "Then why the fuck d'you come here? You should be in bed."

Allison cracked a smile, snickering at his lighthearted scolding. "'Cause I wanted to see your stupid face," she playfully chided him, putting a soft shove into his shoulder.

"Trust me, baby," he rolled his eyes, giving a weak wave up at the pale scaring at the left side of his face, "nobody wants to see this anymore."

Allison's lips ticked to the side in a quick frown, before she placed a gentle kiss to his temple and bowed her forehead there. "I do," she promised him. "I've missed your face."

"Me, too, baby," he quietly agreed, tipping his head away from hers to turn his chin up and give her a kiss. 

They shared a warm smile and Allison asked him, "So, where are the guards?"

"They're gone," he told her, with a small grin. "I'm a free man." His face fell, conceding, with a thoughtful pout and tip of his head, "Well, technically speaking."

Allison straightened up, sitting back to see him. "You're what?" 

"Don't go gettin' all excited," he warned, putting up a hand to calm her. "I won't be leaving this building, for the foreseeable future, but," Rumlow shrugged, "Nick pulled the detail. A reward for helping you deliver on Stovall." He chuckled, when Allison fell back into him, cinching her arms around him again. "Tomorrow, they're moving me out of here."

"To where?" she wondered, the question muffled by her face in his neck.

"Some room somewhere," he shrugged. "I don't know, but someplace out of the Infirmary."

"As long as it's not a jail cell and I can see you," she said.

"You'll see me," he nodded.

Pepper Potts was an angel. When Allison went back to her room for the night, she was stopped in her tracks by the sight of the bathroom countertop, after she snapped on the lights. On the Vanity was a collection of makeup and other cosmetic items, neatly sorted behind a small piece of stationary folded to stand.

“I picked out some things you might need. Let me know if there’s anything else in particular or you’d like something different. -Pepper”

Allison’s fingers wandered over the items arranged on the vanity, picking up a random bottle to read or case to open here and there. Pepper had picked out an assortment of eye shadows and cremes, foundation and concealer, and the like. All high end and complimentary to Allison’s features. There was everything she’d need, from an eyelash curler to makeup brushes, exfoliant and moisturizer to chamomile and lavender scented lotion that purported itself to help her sleep. Allison smiled, charmed by the gesture. Pepper certainly had good taste and a knack for this kind of accessorizing. Allison put some of the items aside on the counter and put others away in the cabinet behind one of the mirrors. She’d go through everything more thoroughly in the morning. 

Allison smoothed on some of the relaxing lotion and climbed into bed. She set the alarm clock by the bed, resolving that she had to try and straighten out her terrible sleep habits. If it weren’t enough that she never seemed to shake a generally run down feeling lately, Brock had caught on to the trouble and she didn’t care for the disapproving looks from him, even if he meant well and was only worried about her. Settled in to her pillow, Allison closed her eyes and took a long, slow breath.

She woke up on her own. Seeing the morning light cutting its way through the towers of the Manhattan skyline, Allison thought maybe she had set the alarm wrong. She stretched into the morning and put her feet on the floor, turning to check the settings on the alarm. It took her a moment, fumbling over buttons to realize she couldn’t actually make sense of the settings on the clock and was getting nowhere. Confused, Allison sat back and frowned when the display told her it wasn’t even 5am despite the sun clearly rising. She looked up, bewildered, until she saw Jack sitting in one of the chairs on the other side of the room.

“Why are you here?" Allison asked, the question wilting with her posture, exhausted by the mere sight of him.

"What are you asking me for?" he scoffed. "I'm only here because _you_ bring me here."

"I don't," she shook her head. "I'm not bringing you, you just...appear.”

“Can’t be me,” he assured her. “You left me dead in the woods. You’re the one mistaking people for me...”

Allison closed her eyes, wishing, “Please, just go away."

Jack looked himself over. "Still here, Princess."

"I don't understand why," she complained, her hands falling limply into her lap, at a loss.

"You want something from me," he figured, putting his hands on his knees and pushing himself up to stand.

Allison scowled up at him. "What could I possibly want from you?"

"Personally?" Jack offered, with a slight cock of his head. "I think you miss me."

"Are you fuckin' kidding me?" she balked, her eyes tracking his path across the room. "You beat me down, threatened me. ...You were going to kill me. How could I _possibly_ miss you?"

Jack shrugged, his meandering bringing him to stop in front of her. "Why does anyone see a ghost? Because we weren't done."

"The hell we weren't," she argued. "If Brock hadn-"

"Oh, you wanna talk about Bingo?" he interrupted, with an arrogant nod down at her. "Let's talk about Bingo, huh? What's so different about him and me? Like he's some god damned saint. The shit we did together, for them; for HYDRA. As if his hands aren't dripping in enough blood, he goes and kills his own best friend. Because of you, by the way,” he noted, pointing a finger down at her. “You made that happen."

Allison gave him a hard look, feeling her pulse rise. "What, you want an apology, or something?" she challenged him.

"I didn't do anything different. Did I lie more than he did?' Jack paused, but she didn't answer. "No, I didn't. He fuckin' spoon feeds you eight different kinds of bullshit, for years." He crouched down in front of her, shifting to a knee to dip down and find her gaze when she turned it from him. "And what did I do? Huh?"

He was right. What was the difference? They were never as close as she and Brock were, but there was a bond with Jack that defied any differences between them. Allison shut her eyes, her head turning down a little more, but he wouldn't be ignored. Jack's hand cupped her chin, turning her back up to him. When she opened her damp eyes, he was watching her; waiting.

"What did I do for you?" he gently pressed, shifting again to duck with her gaze. "I took care of you," Jack quietly reminded her, "watched out for you." His forehead bowed to hers, as he kept his eyes set on hers. "You didn't see the blood I spilled for you; how deep it ran. ...The things I would have done, for you. Stepped in front of bullets, for you. But you can forgive him and not me?” He waited a moment for an answer that didn’t come, before he went on, “Because I never told you I was HYDRA? Well, guess what, Princess. You never said you weren't. It was a deep cover assignment. Nobody would have said a thing to anyone, until orders said to. I guess we all just believe what we see. We don't have to hear."

"You were the enemy," she reminded him.

Jack let her go, taking his hand back from her face, when she sat up. "What enemy?" he smirked. "You really that naive, to think the world is one way or the other?" Allison scowled at him and looked away, and Jack reminded her, "Not everything you did, and not everything that HYDRA did, was bad for the world.” Rollins tipped his head toward the door. “Not everything these self-righteous assholes do is completely blood-free either. Nobody’s ever right in what we do. There’s no black and white and nobody ever wins. We just wait for the next set of orders and go on to the next fight. We don’t get to ask what we’re doing it for or why, because the truth is, we don’t give a shit. We do what we do because somebody tells us it makes a difference, not because we ever see it does.”

He was right. Allison knew it. HYDRA had kept certain other monsters in line, even if it was only to keep their own power and agenda in place. The Avengers had their own collateral damage in their wake. Regardless of the intentions, there was always someone somewhere that lost something somehow. The good guys never actually got ahead. The world was still shit and up for grabs, like it’d always been. Hell, she fought HYDRA because someone said they were the enemy. But there’s always someone telling you the other guy is the bad one. She turned back to say she wasn't naive, but he was gone.

She rubbed her tired eyes clear, at the sound of the knock on the door. "Yeah. Hold on," she called, sitting up to throw aside the covers.

On the other side of the door, Natasha smiled. She told Allison that Fury had made arrangements to release her property. She could get her things. She invited Allison down for breakfast first, telling her most everyone was down there already. Allison asked for a couple minutes to change and Natasha left her to it. Allison combed her hair and brushed her teeth. She shook her head, pulling a t-shirt on, trying to clear out the lingering images of her latest bad dream.

Or was that what it was? Maybe he was right. Jack didn’t come to her. She found him. He was a product of her imagination and all her conscious and subconscious worries. She had been stressed, tired, and on alert for days on end. Now that she had started to slow down and find her footing, her dreams with Jack were becoming...softer, less aggressive and more introspective, in a way. She wasn’t afraid to see him, but she didn’t fully understand why she did. But part of her knew he was right. Part of her did miss her friend.

In the days since she had found Brock again, she had decided to forgive him. She had to, to move on and try and find her center again; to try and get back what she lost. He was the last thing she had to hold on to. She had to. But the things Jack said to her made her uncomfortable; made her doubt herself, all over again, that she was making the right decisions.

”Fuck,” she muttered, shaking her head at her own reflection in the dresser mirror.

Downstairs, Allison returned the greetings that she received walking into the kitchen to fix herself a plate. Barton spoke up, telling her he'd be happy to fly her in to DC and help. Allison gave him her thanks and arranged to meet Clint in the hangar an hour later, giving her time to see Brock. Not wanting to ask any of the others, Allison went back to her room for some privacy. Allison asked JARVIS if Brock had been relocated in the tower yet and, if so, where. It turned out, he was closer than she thought.


	78. Chapter 78

July 2015

Stepping out into the hall, Allison looked right then left. Her breath hitched, seeing for herself. Rumlow was just down the hall. She pulled her door shut behind her and the sound caught the attention of Brock and Pepper. Pepper smiled brightly, wishing Allison a good morning as she came over to them. Brock sent Allison a warm grin.

”Did you have a chance to look at the stuff I set out for you?” The slender redhead wondered. “Was it okay? Did I miss anything?”

”No,” Allison gratefully assured her. “Everything was...just perfect. Thank you.” Looking curiously between Pepper and Brock, she asked, ”What’s going on?” 

“I was just showing your new neighbor to his room,” Pepper grinned. “Or,” she brightly offered, turning her palm over toward Allison, “maybe _you_ would be better suited for showing him around.”

It apparently wasn’t so much a suggestion or invitation as much as what apparently would happen, as Pepper gave them a nod, wearing a wide grin, and stepped around them to leave. Allison and Brock watched, as Pepper went down the hall, opening the expensive leather padfolio she seemed to always have on hand, as she walked. Allison looked at Rumlow left unescorted and moving freely in Avengers Tower, disbelievingly. She threw her arms around his neck, just in case it might all be a dream and he’d disappear.

Rumlow’s arms wrapped around her, holding her as tightly as she clung to him, chuckling, as he told her, “Whoa. Hey, easy there. What’sa matter?”

Allison shook her head on his shoulder. “It’s real,” she marveled. “There’s no guards, no guns. You’re here. Free.”

”Yeah,” he assured her. “I’m here. It’s okay, Addy.”

”Yeah,” she realized, nodding to herself. “It’s okay.” Allison pulled back, leaving her hands to curl over his shoulders as he bowed his head to hers and grinned at her. “Sorry.”

”Don’t apologize,” Brock smiled. He moved, dotting a kiss to the tip of her nose before one to her forehead. “We’re okay, baby.”

A little embarrassed, Allison cleared her throat and took a step back. She jerked her thumb at the door in front of them, saying, “This is it, huh? They gave you a room up here with the rest of them?”

“For now,” Rumlow nodded. “Until there’s a more permanent solution.” He reached out for the handle, pushing the door open. He cocked up a brow, coyly offering, “You wanna come inside?”

Allison laughed, shaking her head and leading the way into the room. Behind her, she heard Brock give an impressed whistle, as the door shut. She turned around to see him panning his gaze over the room. The space wasn’t much dissimilar to Allison’s own room. The setup was the same, with only subtle changes to the minimalist decor.

”I can’t believe they let you out,” Allison swept her head, watching Brock walk the length of the room to see the Brooklyn view outside the wall of windows.

”I’m not sayin’ a word,” he smirked, glancing over his shoulder at her. “Don’t wanna jinx it.”

”Right,” she grinned, miming closing a zipper on her lips. “Me, either.”

Brock wandered in to and back out of the bathroom, asking her, “You been doing okay? I heard you’ve been making friends.”

Allison snorted, with a suspicious grin. “Where’d you hear that?”

”Fury told me, this morning, when he came to tell me I was coming up here,” he said, making a round of the room to look in the refrigerator in the kitchenette. “He said you’ve been gettin’ along, spending some down time with the others.”

”Been tryin’,” she half heartedly told him. “Could use some new friends, I s’pose.”

He straightened up, nudging the fridge door shut as he turned to see her again. “What’s that mean?” he asked, a line of worry coming to his brow.

Allison put on a smile, shaking her head with a shrug. “Nothing,” she said. “I just, you know...I meant since Mick went home and stuff...”

A frown tugged back the sides of his mouth and Rumlow gave her a sympathetic sweep of his head. “It’s going alright, but none of it’s right, is it?” he figured. 

“No,” she agreed, letting her eyes fall with her expression.

Across the way, Brock sighed. “I know,” he told her. “It’s weird getting some of your guys back, but not the whole team, in a different place. It felt like that when I got out of the hospital after DC. Came across Mick and some of the others here and there, before Jack and I started working together again out of Pennsylvania. But it wasn’t like it used to be.”

Allison looked up at the mention of the names, involuntarily raising her head a little higher when he spoke about Rollins. He seemed to pick up on the subtle movement and gave her a discerning look. Brock walked back over to her, searching her face to find something beyond the smile she put on for him. He touched her face, brushing his thumb down her cheek, worrying, “Something wrong, sweetheart?”

Turning out of his touch, she nodded, telling him, “I’m fine.” Allison’s attention went to the view, and she swallowed the small lump in her throat that was keeping her from telling him the truth.

”Addy...” he sighed.

It was quiet for a minute before she got the nerve to say, “It’s just funny, that you say you got to see them, Mick and Jack, but that it was different.”

”How’s that?”

Allison tipped her head to her shoulder, turning her chin up and away to stretch out the tension she felt coming to her neck. She couldn’t help the out of place and humorless grin in the corner of her mouth, finally admitting, with an uneasy titter, “Because I still see Jack.”

”What do you mean, you still see Jack?” he asked.

Her head dropped, biting her lip. “There’s been a couple times-“ Allison stopped, shaking her head at herself for still lying. “Several times, actually. When I’m sleeping he- I, uh...”

”It’s not the nightmares again,” he supposed. “It’s him, now.” Allison nodded and she heard him exhale again. “For how long?”

”Since we got out.”

”The woods,” Rumlow nodded, thoughtfully. There was a lull before he wondered, “Is that where you see him? In a dream, out there?”

Allison shook her head. “No. Here. Wherever I am is where he is.” She crossed her arms, hugging herself, explaining, “We used to fight. ...Now, he just talks to me.”

There was a short pause, before he asked, “About what?”

Allison inhaled, deeply. “About what I’ve done, what he did, about you...”

“You’ve been through a lot, lately,” he noted, taking a seat on the side of the bed. “Maybe- You think now’s the time you talk to Doct-“

”Come on,” she groaned, rolling her eyes. “Really?”

Brock put up his hands. “I’m just sayin’, maybe, before things get too bad again, maybe you-“

”I don’t want someone in my head again,” Allison told him. “It’s not for me, okay?”

”You already got someone in there, Addy,” he firmly pointed out, “if you’re telling me you’re having conversations with a dead man.” She blinked, lost for a sharp comeback, and Brock let out a heavy breath. “I’m sorry,” he apologized. “That was a cheap shot, I know.” 

But Allison was feeling defensive after his remark, regardless of how true it was. “You think I’m crazy?” she dared. “Is that it?”

”No,” Rumlow scowled. He wiped a hand over his mouth. “I’m not- I just want you better, sweetheart. That’s all.”

“Nothing will make it better,” she bit, her anger out of nowhere catching even her a little off guard. “It's never going to be okay, because it’s gone. SHIELD? Mick? Gone. Haney and Emery, Janine,” she rattled off. “And Jack? Gone. I'll never get an apology; an explanation, something! From anyone.” Allison let her hands fall to her sides from where they had reached up in frustration. “...An apology?" she chided herself, shaking her head as she turned to the window again, crushing her eyes closed. "Fuck. Is that even what I want?"

"Is it?" he gently pressed.

Allison shook her head, unsure. "Everything that happened, for all the ways it went wrong, I-" Allison let out a shaky exhale. "I know what I did was right,” she began again, nodding her confidence of what she was saying. “I was right. Jack was wrong. _He_ was the liar and traitor. He was the enemy. I know...he was going to kill me." She turned to face Rumlow. "So, why?" Something inside boiled over. "Jesus fucking Christ! Why do I still remember him the other way?! Why is he still here?"

It was quiet for a moment. Allison clenched her fists at her sides, inhaling deeply to steady herself. She wiped a hand over her mouth, a little embarrassed by her own outburst. But she was tired, in more ways than one. The sun had disappeared behind a sky of darkening clouds, and the light in the room began to develop a subtle mirror to the windows in front of Allison. From the side of her eye, she took in Brock's reflection, leaning his forearms down on his knees.

"I understand," he nodded. "I see things, too, sometimes. It's-" Brock paused, cocking his head at the thought that, "I think it's the way it ended. He shouldn't 'a gone out like that. I mean, was there something that I could've done different there? Could I- Ah, fuck" he complained and sighed, his attention falling to the floor beyond his fingers laced together. "It shouldn't have ended like that. How do things end without a goodbye, right?"

The question struck her, tugging at her gut and halting her breath. Was that it? Simple closure?

"I don't know,” he breathed out. “Doesn't make sense, does it? The regret, over an asshole like him." Rumlow snorted, quietly, with a smirk and a sweep of his head. "You're right. I know he was wrong, but...he was still my friend." His head dropped, admitting, "I know I could never explain it well enough to say why I still give a shit."

He nodded to himself, recalling, "Jack was my brother. He my battle buddy for 11 years. The blood we shed, the shit we survived." Brock shifted his lean to his left arm, scratching his right hand along his stubbled jaw. "I can't remember anymore, how many times he saved my ass or I saved his. I used to know the score. When I was up, I'd never let him forget it,” he softly snorted. “He always had my back, and I always had his. If he was nothing else, that sonuvabitch was loyal."

Allison could agree with that. She nodded, staring vacantly down into the city, as tiny drops of rain started to dot the window.

"I still forget where I am, sometimes," Brock admitted and Allison looked over her shoulder to see him wring one hand in the other, as he muttered, "If you can believe that. ...It used to happen, once in awhile; in the hospital and with HYDRA. That haze after a dream, about still being in SHIELD. Since you've been around, it's happened a couple times again. ...Familiar feeling, maybe. I don’t know.” He swept his head. “Sometimes, I’d wake up in the dark, expecting to go to the Triskelion and see him, an’ everyone else, in the briefing room for formation, like nothing had happened.” The side of his mouth tugged back in a limp smirk. “Crazy, right?"

Brock shook his head. "I don't know how to get him out of your head. ...But I know why he's there." He nodded to himself. "Because it hurts."

Allison looked away from his reflection and over her shoulder to him. "...He'd have given his life for you, you know,” Brock told her. “The same way he would'a done for me. There's no bigger thing anyone can do than that. People like you and me, we're the only ones that know what that feels like, that kind of love. And that's why it hurts." He brought his gaze back up to hers. "Because you saw it. You saw the bullet holes in his back for you. You know what he did in Bangui...for you."

Allison stared, feeling the heat come to her eyes, as he went on. "You and I both know, he loved you,” Rumlow frankly said. “And I’m not talking about for what happened in Cabinda or any of the other shit. We both know what I’m saying. Maybe he never said those words to you, on account of you both being on STRIKE and thinking you had some banker waiting for you at home, but, as much as he was allowed to, he did.

"I know, in some ways, you loved him, too. And that's okay," Brock subtly nodded, turning his gaze down again. "That's what made you two an effective team. That's why I knew you'd always be okay, on ops you picked up with Delta, if I wasn't there but he was. He'd never let anyone hurt you." Allison swallowed down the lump in her throat, blinking back the dampness in her eyes. "But that's why _he_ did."

Brock looked her in the eye, apologetically telling her, "What he thought he knew about you was a lie, and he was never one for being lied to. ...Addy, I'm so sorry. I know what he did to you, before we got you out. I knew he'd be angry, when he figured out you were never HYDRA. I just didn't know it'd cut him that deep. I shoulda put orders on him to keep him away from you an-"

"You couldn't have done that," she interrupted, with a sweep of her head. "Trying to protect me any more than you already had would've raised suspicions. He'd have seen through you, too."

"I could've handled Jack," he assured her. "I made the wrong call, and it got you hurt. I'm sorry."

"Don't," she shook her head. "It's part of the game."

"I told you'd I'd never let him put a hand on you," Brock reminded her.

"That's not what we were talking about, when you said that," she countered. He shook his head, as she spoke, scrubbing his hands up and down his face, before drawing them down and letting them fall into his lap. She saw the exhausted regret in the expression, as his head bowed.

"He never should'a been able to touch you," he said, quietly, but firmly.

Allison crossed the room to him. His knees parted further, at her hands resting on them and her lowering herself to her own knees in front of him. In the look they shared, she'd only seen the woundedness in his eyes once before. On the flight home from Bangui, after she'd been stabilized and the medics had left her to rest. He had stood by, keeping watch over her from the jump seat beside the gurney. When no one was around, and she had the energy to peek through slit eyes to be sure the rescue hadn't been a dream, she saw him next to her, with that same guilt and hurt in his eyes.

"He didn't," Allison told him. "When it mattered the most," she shook her head, looking him in the eye, "you didn't let him." She swallowed down her own guilt, adding, "I'm sorry that it was you that took him out. I wish it had been me, or anyone else."

Rumlow nodded, tightly. "It was always going to be me. I knew that a long time ago."

"I just want it to stop," she softly begged. "But I don't know if I can forget him. I don't know how."

"Time, sweetheart," he gently promised, pulling her into his arms and shushing her in his next breath for the quiet sob he heard in hers. "Time will make it better. It'll change. Memories, details will fade. It'll hurt less. You don't forget a guy like Jack." Rumlow shook his head. "We trained together, fought and bled together, cheated Death and laughed. You won't forget that. You just push on without him."


	79. Chapter 79

July 2015

There was a long moment of silence in the room. The peacefulness of the raining clouds and soft lamp light did nothing to help Allison relax. Allison’s mind was still full of questions and doubts. She thought finally talking about Jack would be the fix she needed. But instead of feeling unburdened, Allison still wasn't satisfied. She pulled away from Brock, shifting back on her heel to stand again. She wiped her palms over her eyes and let her gaze wander out the window again.

”Who was first?” Allison wondered. “HYDRA or SHIELD?”

”You mean, who did I work for?” he clarified, and she nodded. After taking a deep breath he answered, “HYDRA.”

”Why did you do it?” she asked next. “Why sign up with them?”

”Addy,” Rumlow began, his voice and posture sinking with wariness, “what are you doing?”

”I want to know,” she told him. “Don’t I deserve to know?”

”What do you think you’re gonna hear?” he sighed.

”I don’t know,” she admitted, with a small shrug.

“Are you sure you even want to hear?” Brock pressed. “You may not like it. What then?”

”Why them?” she repeated.

Brock inhaled through his nose, nodding tightly. “Alright,” he begrudgingly agreed. “Fine.” He dropped his head into his upturned palms over his knees, scrubbing his hands up and down his face, before reluctantly explaining, “Nobody just walks in. There’s no recruiting stations or applications. You get in because you had family ahead of you and they bred you into it, or you know somebody who recommends you to a scout who decides if you’re worth their interest.

“They- _We_ ,” he corrected, with an aggravated cock of his head, “watched certain groups and organizations. Military, intelligence agencies, politicians.” His hand rolled over in a repetitive way as he described HYDRA’s method of recruitment. “There’s agents inside everywhere. Anywhere we could look to find whoever we needed to fill a role.

“The military’s always been the best bet,” Rumlow said, “with the best training and the years of experience for every MOS. One stop shopping for everything an organization like HYDRA needs. Guys with specialized skills for the tech work, airmen, grunts, doctors. They’re all there, ripe for the picking.

“A sleeper identifies a possible asset, or a name comes across a scout’s desk from someone else on the inside,” he went on, “and they start digging. By the time a scout makes an approach, he already knows everything about you and if you’re a worthwhile investment. Family life, financials, high school GPA, if you call your mother every Tuesday, you’re favorite restaurant. They know everything. It’s down to a fuckin’ science with them. The scouts have a less than 4% failure rating on approaches.

“Sometimes,” he shrugged, “it’s a matter of necessity. Desperate times. Someone like Mick, for example. Just find the angle, offer them an out. The loyalty comes from the debt or a threat of exposure. It just becomes a way of life.”

Rumlow paused, before admitting, “Someone like me?...like Jack? We‘re born with the predisposition to follow orders and the propensity for violence. Guys like us, like any soldier, can give a whole life to the service, because we’re born fighters. A buddy of Jack’s from the Rangers suggested him. One of my COs from the SEALS spotted me. ...Guys like us sign up with HYDRA because we don’t give a fuck who's making the decisions, thinking it can’t get any worse. You see so much of the cesspool, doin’ what we did. You see every war you deploy for, every conflict you fight in- none of it ever changing. All the blood- for nothing. We sign up because we’re sick of the fucking mess and HYDRA’s the only one with a solid plan on how to clean it up.

“It’s not Nazis and all that other nonsense anymore,” he shook his head. “It’s order. It’s clear and simple, and it makes sense. It’s satisfying, because there’s a goal. You can see the end. It’s a long play, but you see the progress. You know what you’re doing works and, for once, you’re part of a solution.” Brock shrugged, with a sweep of his head. “And once you’re in, you’re in. Nobody ever thinks about leaving. We already bought in.“

Brock leaned onto his elbows on his knees. “Guys like me and Jack, we rise fast,” he told her. “We work hard. We’re good at what we do. We get shit done. You can be as ambitious as you want to be. There’s rewards for it. Money, promotions, preferred assignments. Guys like us were picked out immediately for the deep cover assignments in SHIELD. Our backgrounds, training, and experience. We were trustworthy, reliable, loyal. ...And they were right. They were right about Jack. And Dennison. Haney, Emery, Greer, and the rest of ‘em. ...For a long time, they were right about me.”

Allison studied him for a long moment. “I still don’t understand, how could you keep this from me?”

”Addy, we’ve been over this,” he tiredly reminded her.

”I could have helped you,” Allison firmly told him. “Were you ever going to tell me?”

”I was trying to protect you. I-“

”We were never supposed to lie to each other,” she said, feeling a little vulnerable still.

”You woulda stayed?” Brock challenged, getting to his feet. “You would have stayed with me, accepted what I’d done and who I was?” He shook his head, answering for her. “You would’ve put a bullet in my head,” he assured her, pointing at himself and then away, “like you’ve done to every other HYDRA agent you’ve ever come across.” Allison felt her pulse, and an uneasiness in her gut, rise at the accusation, as he continued, “And I’ve have been better off for it, than seeing you look at me the way you did that night in Pennsylvania; the way you’re looking at me, right now.”

Rumlow wiped a hand over his mouth. “You think I wanted to do any of this to you?” he questioned, his voice quieted by the hurt and insult in his expression. “You think I meant for any of this to happen? To fall for you and play this fuckin’ game with them for four years?” He held a hand up to her. “I thought about it. I thought about trying to bring you in. When we first got together, about trying to figure out a way that you’d come around and see things from their side.” He shook his head at her. “But it wouldn’t have worked. You wouldn’t have stayed. And by the time I figured that out, I didn’t want to lose you. I couldn’t. ...So, I figured, fuck it,” he said so earnestly. “What’s one last lie? What if there’s just this _one_ _thing_ about me you don’t know? What if it turned out that everything else you knew was good enough and you’d never leave? If you never had to find out...”

He carded a hand through his hair, shaking his head, admitting, “I made some mistakes. I won’t apologize for everything I did, because, for HYDRA or not, I did some good for the world. If you’d have seen it all, you’d know it was more good than bad. Things I did made a difference. Things _we_ did kept soldiers out of wars that didn’t start. They meant people slept at night knowing nobody was gonna kick in their doors anymore and steal their kids. That some guy could feed his family, because the asshole that was bleeding his country dry got the fuckin’ bullet in the head that he deserved.

“You saw those bastards we took for The Hague,” Brock reminded her. “You know the list of crimes for some of the mongrels we put down. You saw the craters and the pieces of people some ‘a these assholes left in their wake. Who gives a fuck who you’re doin’ it for, if you can _see_ somebody _finally_ gettin’ shit done?”

He held up a finger. “I can’t apologize for everything I did with HYDRA, because I shouldn’t,” he told her. “But the one thing I will do it for, every day, is keeping it from you.” Brock swept his head. “But I’dve done anything to keep you from leaving. I still would.”

”We we’re going to get married,” Allison said. “What if we had? What if we-“

”We were gonna get out,” Brock confidently answered. “I told you, we could do anything together. We could’ve left. Could’ve disappeared. We know how. Left DC and started over. It wouldn't have mattered, because none of it would have been our problem anymore.”

”And if Insight had launched...?” she wondered. “If it had happened and we weren’t there?”

Brock shook his downturned head. “I’m done with what ifs, Addy,” he sighed. “We’ve spent our whole lives asking “what if”. I thought it just used to keep us alive, but you ask it enough and all you see is the next question. You can’t see the end of the road anymore, because you have all the eventualities in the way.

“After you said “yes”, I didn’t have anymore questions,” he told her, taking a couple of steps closer. “You said “yes” and all I saw was that house in the suburbs.” Brock shook his head. “Not the next mission. Not the next promotion. Just you. No more lies. No more double life. That was all I needed.”

Allison took it all in for a moment, before asking, “What do you need now?”

With a subtle nod, he promised, “That’s still all I need.” Rumlow held out his hand for hers. “What do _you_ need, Addy?” His fingers twisted with hers when she took his hand and she pressed her lips tightly together. “Nick and I have an arrangement,” he told her. “I turn asset for him and fly right, I stay off the Raft. I go anywhere I wanna go. I just answer the phone when he calls. No tracker. No handler. Simple as that.

“You wanna stay and fight?” Brock offered. “We stay. You wanna leave? We’ll leave. No more what ifs. Just one decision. Whatever you say, we’ll make it happen. But, Addy, sweetheart," he gave a sympathetic sweep of his head, "you gotta try and find a way to move forward. Hopefully, with me." He managed a flash of a warm grin, before his face straightened again with sincerity and he added, "Rehashing what happened can't change the past. The answers won't ever be different. You need to know you never did anything wrong. Stop worrying that you did and see you were the best of us all along. You deserve a little peace from that."

Allison took a moment to breathe, considering that maybe she had less to blame herself for than her doubts told her she did; that intentions counted for something and if she could see Brock's intentions to protect her and do what he could from inside HYDRA and forgive him, maybe she could assuage some of her guilt and believe what she'd been telling everyone else all along. That she didn't do anything wrong and nothing could have happened differently. She thought back to that night at the wedding and remembered how good it all sounded, disappearing and starting over.

Allison took a deep breath, before giving a small nod. "I think I'm done," she decided, just the idea of walking away bringing her a little comfort already.

"You've earned a break," he nodded, understandingly. 

"It's still that easy?" she wondered, with a wary grin.

Rumlow pulled her close, chuckling softly. "Well," he said, "we'll have to figure out a forwarding address to give Fury first, but, yeah, it is."

Lost in conversation, Allison had nearly forgotten her appointment to meet Clint for her ride down to DC for her things. She excused herself from Brock, leaving him to hurry off to the Infirmary. She was relieved to find Dr. Cho was free. The doctor was more than happy to finally remove Allison's stitches and staples, noting that everything was healing well and as expected. While Allison had her ear, she swallowed some pride and found the nerve to mention she'd been having trouble sleeping lately.

"You do look a little run down," Cho carefully agreed, with her eyes set on removing the last of the stitches. "Are you having trouble falling asleep or staying asleep?"

"Yes," Allison admitted, with a sheepish grin.

Dr. Cho looked up from her work, giving Allison a kind smile. "I think I can help with that," she nodded.

Just the two of them, Allison and Clint chatted on the flight to DC. Allison remarked how weird it felt to be flying in a Quinjet so much recently, since she'd spent the last year doing everything by bus tickets and stolen cars. Clint mentioned how things were starting to settle down in the tower again, now that people seemed to be getting things off their chests, finally. As the conversation centered around life in the tower for a few minutes, Allison grew a little nervous, thinking of how to broach the subject that she would be leaving. She was relieved when Barton broke in to radio to the tower for clearance for their approach.

Allison's gut clenched, when he lined up the jet to land. She watched the ground crews and marshallers at work, as the jet descended to the pad on the flightline of the Triskelion. When the engines were shut down and the ramp was lowered, Allison looked up at Tower B, still under re-construction after the helicarrier crashed into it over a year ago. She was unexplainably anxious being there, despite the professional welcome of the agent that greeted her and Clint to escort them into the building.

They were taken to the motor pool. A car had been arranged for them to use. Allison's belongings were being housed in a SHIELD storage site in Falls Church. The facility kept rare copies of SHIELD records and minded memorabilia and other significant artifacts from the agency's history. After the collapse, some of its empty warehouse floor space was utilized to sift through debris and remains from the collapse. Since then, the facility had taken over management of the literal tons of evidence and property seized from suspected double agents and such after HYDRA was revealed.

Allison and Clint walked down a long row of steel shipping containers, each with coded locks and identified only by a barcode and serial number. Stacked three high on either side of them, Allison wondered how many rows lay beyond what they could see around them. Their escort stopped, handing Allison a tablet to sign an electronic form waiving any claims for loss or damages to her property. She was given a folder with a paper inventory of all the things the container held, for her own records. She had the option to have the container transferred to New York, or some other location, or to keep it in the facility for 30 days. Allison opted for the 30 days, until she knew where she and Brock would be going. Not that she had room for everything that might be packed away in the 45’ long box anyway.

Barton took out a knife, cutting through the tamper evident seal across the end of the container. Opening the pair of steel doors ahead of them, Allison let out a sigh. There were dozens of boxes, of all sizes, stacked along the walls with her furniture. There was a path through the middle of it all, letting them walk the length of the container. The end of every box had a bar code and an abbreviated inventory of the kinds of items stored in each. The boxes were sealed with evidence tape and piled from floor to ceiling.

Clint let out a long whistle, before turning to look at her over his shoulder. "Well, where do you want to start?"

Hours later, Allison and Clint were back on the jet, carrying a load of several boxes of clothing and personal items with them, back to New York. The crew in the hangar was ready with carts to move Allison’s belongings to her room for her. It was just about time for dinner. Allison told Barton she’d meet him downstairs, once she saw her things to her room. Waiting by her door, as she and her helpers exited the elevator at the end of the hall, was Rumlow.

”Heard you were back,” he smiled, pecking a kiss to her cheek, as she unlocked her door and let in the tower staff. “This can’t be everything,” Brock laughingly doubted, coming in behind the others.

”Just for now,” Allison nodded, pointing out a corner of the room to stack the boxes she would sort through later. “Some clothes, my laptop, some odds and ends. Enough to get by ‘til we figure out where we’re going.”

”Going?”

Allison and Brock turned to see Barnes standing in the doorway, confusedly watching the movers leaving the room. “Um, yeah,” she awkwardly admitted. “We’re not staying.” Bucky gave a hard look to Rumlow and Allison read it as blame. “I told you before,” she gently reminded him. “Maybe it’s just a little sooner than I was expecting.”

Barnes nodded, tightly, his jaw setting, before he quietly agreed, “Yeah.”

He turned and walked down the hallway. Allison stared at the open doorway, listening to Barnes’ footsteps disappearing. She looked to Brock, seeing he’d been watching her. She saw him exhale and give her a weak smile.

”Nobody said it’d be easy,” he offered.


	80. Chapter 80

July 2015

Allison braced herself, walking down the stairs. Beside her, Brock looked as confident as ever. She allowed herself a small smirk at how few fucks he had to give about walking in to the lion’s den. She knew it shouldn’t be a surprise. She figured everyone knew about Rumlow, by now. Rumlow had told her while she was gone he had met with Fury again. He told her the Director would explain the circumstances of Brock’s release, and their leaving, to Rogers. Fury may have paved the way, but she wasn’t sure the direction the news, and Brock’s presence, would take them.

Downstairs in the common area, the others were gathered around tables for dinner. The volume of the dining area noticeably dropped, as sentences trailed off and people realized Allison and Rumlow had come in. Wilson watched them crossing the floor toward the kitchen, like a hawk. Natasha gave them a subtle raise of her chin in welcome and picked up her thought where she had left of. Barton made a small wave in their direction, in lieu of speaking around his mouthful of food. Steve went back to his conversation with Tony and Pepper smiled warmly at them both. Barnes ignored them, his attention on his plate as he chewed his food.

They shared a look and Rumlow sent Allison a wink and a kind smile to say he didn’t care about the looks. It put her at ease. They wouldn’t have to put up with it for long. Optimistically, maybe a few more meals. They were meeting with Fury in the morning to discuss some relocation options. She could think of a few worse situations they’d been in together and survived. They could get through a dinner.

”How was DC?” Pepper’s voice brightly carried from across the way. “Did you find everything you were looking for?”

With his back to the room, Brock smiled at Allison and she looked past his shoulder to see Pepper eagerly looking at her. “Uh, yeah,” Allison nodded. “Brought back some boxes. Got some unpacking to do after dinner, I guess,” she shrugged, with a grin.

”Wouldn't bother unpacking too much,” Bucky grumbled, putting aside his fork, as Allison and Brock walked around the kitchen counter to find seats at the table.

As if a record scratched, everyone stopped. Barnes stood up, leaving the last half of his meal on the table. His shoulder bumped Rumlow’s on his way toward the stairs. Brock stopped, mid-stride for his balance, and let it happen. He quirked up an irritated brow, but said nothing. Rather, he flashed Allison a quick, but unconvincing grin, and took one of the empty seats Pepper had been motioning them over to, before Bucky’s abrupt departure. 

Tony’s head cocked in confusion. “We’re doing awkward dinners again?” he complained. “Did I miss the memo?”

”Tony, please,” Pepper softly chided him, putting a hand on his arm.

”What was that about?” Clint asked.

Allison settled into her seat without a sound, a little embarrassed by the scene, as Steve spoke up. “It was going to come up sooner or later,” he grumbled, putting down his knife and fork. “Allison is leaving. ...They both are.” There was a symphony of small gasps and clattering silverware among a small flurry of whats and whys. “Everyone, just...calm down,” Rogers sighed. 

“What d’you mean, you’re leaving?” Clint gaped. “Al, you just got here.”

Steve was already explaining, while Allison awkwardly began to poke around the food on her plate, and Rumlow gave her knee a reassuring squeeze under the table. “In exchange for his continuing cooperation and assistance, Rumlow has been given immunity.” Allison heard the frustrated huff from Wilson nearby. “He’ll be relocated to a safe location and under the protection of SHIELD and direction of Col. Fury. ...And Allison is going with him.”

”I thought you might stick around,” Natasha looked to Allison. 

“I think we can all agree,” Rogers said, “she’s done enough lately. She could use a break.” Allison saw a couple reluctant nods in her periphery. “And she knows she’s welcome back, anytime.”

Allison looked over, catching the affirming nod from Steve. She flashed him an appreciative grin, while the room muttered among themselves, recovering from the initial surprise. Of course, it was Pepper who lifted the mood at their table again, looking between Allison and Brock and sitting up a little straighter to wonder, “Do you have any idea where you’d like to go?” 

“Nick’s going to have some options, in the morning,” Rumlow said, giving Allison a quick once over and another touch of her knee. “There’s some security considerations to address. It can’t just be anywhere.”

”I hate moving,” Pepper frowned, “but the looking at places and decorating are so much fun.”

She went on to offer her help with anything they could think of and Tony proudly boasted how Pepper was responsible, mostly, for the decor and art in the tower. Dinner carried on and things calmed down again. Over coffee after their meal, Natasha and Clint offered their best wishes to Allison and Brock, as enthusiastically as they could. Barton did his best to hide his disappointment, but Natasha could have tried harder to conceal her wariness. By the end of the evening, though, Allison had no doubts that she was being supported by almost everyone. She was still a little surprised by Barnes’ reaction.

On their way upstairs for the night, Allison fell a few steps behind Brock, when Steve reached out for her wrist as she passed. Rumlow gave her a nod, to say he’d see her upstairs, when Rogers gave her a look to ask for a moment of her time. Brock went on and Steve got up from his spot on the couch to walk with Allison over to the bar, away from the others.

”Sorry about that,” he offered, and she tried to wave him off. “No, really,” he insisted. “I didn’t mean to tell everyone your business, but Bucky...” the Captain shook his head. “He knew you said you weren’t going to stay. I don’t know why he was so-“

”It’s okay,” Allison assured him. “I guess, he wasn’t expecting it so soon.” 

“None of us were,” Steve admitted. “But then, I’m not surprised. We didn’t exactly put out the welcome mat for you.” They both shared an awkward snort of agreement and understanding. “But you know, you _are_ welcome here, Al. Anytime. There’s always a space for you with the team. We’re always here for you. You know that, right?” She nodded, and his gaze fell away, as he added, “I just wish we maybe had a little more time to make up for some things.”

Allison gave him a sympathetic smile. “Maybe when we get settled in,” she considered, “you guys might wanna come by for a barbecue and some beers, or something, when you have a day off. Door’s always open.”

”Don’t say that too loud,” Steve grinned. He tipped his head to the room behind them, warning, “Free food and beer? You might not be able to get us to leave.”

The meeting with Fury was interesting. Allison heard more about the deal he had made with Rumlow and even struck her own. Brock was on call 24 hours a day for any requests for intel or direction regarding operations against HYDRA. Fury recognized the wealth of experience Brock had and intended to have him consult on training matters, as well. Down the road there may be opportunities for Rumlow to return to the field, after he could prove his loyalty again. As for Allison, after some hesitation, she was convinced to do some work for Fury. He had argued her skills could still do some good, even if she didn’t want to be behind the trigger anymore. Allison signed on as a contractor. Fury envisioned sending her to help privately train, consult, and advise on security matters for SHIELD’s foreign allies. She’d be paid handsomely, as Brock would be for his work, and could do as little or as much as she wanted. Although, he hoped, after she took some time for herself, that it would be more than less.

There was a place, a short drive east from Albany, that was on the list of relocation opportunities for Allison and Brock to consider. The home, a modern two-story on several acres of land, was purchased by SHIELD in October of 2013. The agency had meant to convert it to a safe house, as there was a SHIELD outpost nearby, on the other side of the city. It was scheduled for renovation and conversion, before SHIELD collapsed. It had been sitting empty, ever since. With a bit of cleaning up, the property could be ready and the couples’ personal items brought up from DC in a couple of weeks.

The other prospects were outside of New York. One in Georgia and two out of the country. While living outside of the States would afford them more anonymity, Allison had liked the idea of staying closer to home, so to speak. They were near enough to SHIELD for easy recall for assignments and mostly in between the Avengers Tower and the Compound, give or take some mileage one way or the other. It made sense for work, but Brock mostly agreed to the move to keep Allison closer to her friends. At the end of the long morning meeting, Fury was happy to announce that the work to clear Allison and Brock’s frozen assets was done and their new identities had been prepared. He left them with envelopes containing the details of their new lives, promising to get back to them soon about when they would be moving.

Alone in the conference room, Brock swiveled in his chair to face Allison beside him. “You ready for this?” he checked.

”To have a life again?” she grinned, dusting her fingers over the pinned down flap of the stuffed manila envelop on the table. “You bet your ass I am.”

Walking back to the living quarters to look over the dossiers Fury had prepared for their new covers, Allison and Brock crossed paths with Steve and Bucky in the hallway. Barnes looked a little frustrated, making some quiet argument as the Captain stubbornly shook his head. The conversation stopped, when everyone was close enough to hear and be heard. Allison gave them both a warm smile, asking if everything was alright.

”Yeah,” Rogers nodded. “I was just saying I was on my way downstairs. Fury’s talking to Stovall. I was just saying maybe Bucky should sit this one out.”

”That might be best,” Allison thoughtfully conceded. “He migh-“

Without a word, Barnes turned away from the others. As they watched, all a bit surprised, Bucky went to his room, the door shutting heavily behind him. Rogers shook his head, explaining he thought Bucky might be uncomfortable watching Fury try and finesse some additonal cooperation from Stovall, beyond helping remove the implanted command codes. But apparently Barnes didn’t like being “coddled”. 

“Good luck finessing,” Rumlow snorted. “Hope Nick packed a lunch. Stovall can dig in like a tick, sometimes.”

Rogers brow rose with consideration and he invited, “Maybe you two wanna come along and watch.”

Allison and Brock shared a look and shrug. They followed the Captain to the elevator and down to the interrogation area. Rogers carefully shut the door to the observation room behind them, as everyone immediately tuned in to the audio piped into the speaker in the room, listening to Fury trying to pursuade Stovall into cooperation. The tech at the control console turned up the volume, as the trio found their spaces to watch through the mirrored window.

”How’s it going?” Steve quietly asked Mowry, who was taking notes on a pad at the end of the desk.

The agent shrugged, with a thoughtful frown. “He’s holding out,” he said. “We’ve done most of the talking all morning. He hasn’t bit on a single offer. Still trying to figure out if he’s looking for a trade or just trying to show how big his balls are. The Colonel’s taking a shot now.”

”He’ll try and hold out for a trade,” Rumlow promised, with a subtle nod, his eyes set on the doctor in the next room. “He’s fuckin’ spoiled. Has been for years. If you’re dealing, he’ll wait for the jackpot offer before he caves.”

”Thought you said he was a coward,” Rogers noted, quirking up a brow at Brock.

”He is,” he assured him, crossing his arms. “But he’s not a fuckin’ idiot, either.”

”How long has Stovall been in there?” the Captain checked.

Giving a quick glance to the clock on the wall, Mowry told them, “Just over 4 hours.” He jerked his thumb at Rumlow, adding, “He’s right. We've been giving him all the usual offers. He keeps coming back with more requests. We’ll break here in a bit for lunch and try again.”

”Mind if I try something?” Allison piped up.

Agent Mowry shrugged, giving an indifferent roll of his hand over on the desk. “What’d you have in mind?”

”Can I borrow your gun?” she asked.

Rogers instantly stiffened, the agents in the room all looked at Allison, and Rumlow immediately scowled, warily warning, “ _Addy_...”

”What?” she defensively begged, raising her shoulders and turning up her palms. “I’m not gonna shoot ‘im,” she incredulously promised. “Oh, and gimme that tablet,” she added, pointing to the device under Mowry’s padfolio.

After a reluctant nod from Rogers, Mowry unholstered his pistol from his shoulder rig and passed it off to Allison. She tucked it into the back of her jeans and took the tablet when Mowry handed it over next. As Allison tapped away on the screen, she challenged Brock for a, “Time?”

He chuckled, shaking his head, with a smug grin in the side of his mouth. “3 minutes,” he dared.

Allison found what she was looking for in the tablet and flashed Rumlow a wicked grin, countering with a confident, “2. Fifty bucks?”

”1 minute,” he offered, lifting his hand from his arm to hold up one finger, “a hundred bucks.”

”Done,” she promised. She tapped the tech at the console on the shoulder, telling him, “Call Fury out.”

”Do I wanna know what you’re talking about?” Rogers hesitated, watching Allison casually smile on her way out of the room, as Fury was requested to step into the control room.

Behind her, Allison heard Rumlow mischievously assure him, “You never got to see her work an uncooperative prisoner. You’re gonna wanna watch this.”

Allison bladed herself against the wall, allowing room for Fury to pass in the short hallway between the interrogation room and control center. She smiled when he gave her a curious look. She put a hand out, catching the door before it shut behind Fury, telling him she had a new deal to offer Stovall that she thought might speed negotiations along. His chin raised, eyeing her over once, suspiciously, before a smirk came to him. He gave her a subtle nod and Allison went into the next room.

The door shut and latched behind her and Allison started the short walk across the room to the table in the center. She spotted Sgt. Galloway in the corner of the room, overseeing the prisoner’s security with three other armed agents. Allison gave Galloway a polite grin in greeting and Stovall looked up and over his shoulder at hearing her footsteps. Her smile dropped, the moment Allison’s eyes locked with Stovall’s. The color disappeared from the doctor’s face at recognizing her. Allison didn’t interrupt her stride when she reached over, grabbing a fistful of Stovall’s hair at the back of his head, and slammed his head down into the table. The thud from his skull bouncing off the metal table echoed in the room for a moment, as Allison pulled out the chair across from Stovall and took a seat, as if she hadn’t done anything.

Casually squaring herself to Stovall, the doctor slowly recovered from the blow, holding the side of his head with one hand and wiping at the run of blood from his nostril with the other. Allison woke the tablet screen and turned it around to face Stovall, sliding it across the table and into his view. Stovall shrank away from her hand pushing the tablet, already conditioned to fear her.

”Play time’s over,” she told him. “This is your last deal.” Allison pointed his attention down to the tablet and the open dossier on Barnes from the Winter Soldier Program files. “You’ll remove the remaining command and control programming from Sgt. Barnes. There’s no payout, no immunity, and no protection.”

Maybe it was being watched by other men that gave Stovall the nerve to argue, muffled as it was with his hand over his still bleeding nose, “That’s not a deal.” Allison pulled Mowry’s gun from the small of her back and laid it on the table under her hand. “What? You’ll kill me?” he scoffed. Stovall shook his head. “Then you’ll never be able to help Barnes.”

”No,” Allison swept her head, “I won’t kill you.” She stood up, taking the gun with her as she walked around to stand behind Stovall. She pressed the barrel of the pistol into his back, whispering to his ear, “But if I shoot you, right _here_ , you will spend the rest of your worthless existance immobilized from the neck down, regretting every decision you made that got you there, especially the one where you told me, “no”. ...That’s the deal. Sound fair?”

“J-Jesus Christ,” Stovall stammered, frozen still. “You’re insane.”

”Maybe,” Allison considered, thumbing back the hammer on Mowry’s gun. “Wanna find out?”

”Please,” the doctor breathed. “Don’t! I’ll do it. I- I need things. Equipment. I need equipment to-“

”Shh,” Allison patted him on the head. “We’ll get you everything you need.” She nodded toward the window, telling him, “They’re gonna come in and get a list. Just name it.” She carefully decocked the pistol, adding, “But let’s not have to have this discussion again.”

”Y-yeah,” he nodded. “I mean, no. I’ll do it. I’ll cooperate. Just, please...”

Behind her, the mechanical locks of the door opened. Allison stood up, as Stovall dropped his head, his shoulders shaking with what Allison thought might be a sob. Galloway gave her an impressed nod and pout, as she turned to go. She met Agent Mowry at the door, as he held it open for her, and she passed him back his sidearm. Allison smiled back at his smirk and head shake, giving him a small shake of her head when he quietly chuckled, “Subtle, yet effective.”

Back in the control room, Allison gave Rumlow a cocky grin, reminding him, “You owe me a hundred bucks.”

”I’m good for it,” he winked, with a proud grin for her.

”Jesus Christ, Al,” Rogers marveled, his jaw a bit slacked in awe.

”Told ya,” Rumlow bragged.

”What?” she innocently shrugged. “He said he’d help.”

”Nobody ever tells you “no”, do they?” the Captain decided, with a chuckle and a sweep of his head.

Allison gave a thoughtful pout. “Can’t think of anyone.”

Allison knocked on the door, her head tipped down to listen for any signs of movement on the other side. A moment later she heard the handle turn and the door opened wide. She looked up, flashing a hopeful smile at Barnes, asking, “Can I come in?”

He moved out of the way, holding up his hand to usher her in. There wasn’t much of an expression to read from him. She watched him shut the door behind her, wondering what his mood might have been before he opened the door and saw it was her. Barnes hadn’t said a word to her since before the news last night that she was leaving with Rumlow. She wasn’t sure how to begin, so she just called him out.

”What’s the big deal?” she asked, when he turned to see her. “Are you just going to ignore me until I leave?” He didn’t have a quick answer, but folded his arms. “Am I being punished for telling you all along I wasn’t going to stay?”

”You weren’t going to stay,” he argued, “because of how everyone was treating you. But now, everything’s okay- Or, it’s getting there. And now, you’re just leaving anyway?”

”I told you I was staying ‘til I figured out what was going on with Br-“

”You said you would help me-“

”I did,” she insisted. “I have. I don’t know how much more help I can be. I don’t know any more. You and Steve have everything from the tablet, Stovall, all the information from Rumlow.” She waved a hand out toward the door. “You could ask him anything you want. He’d tell you.” Allison sighed, seeing the stubborn set of his jaw. “I don’t know what else to say...”

There was a silent pause between them, before Bucky worried, “What about me?”

”What do you mean?” she shook her head. “You’re set here. You’ve got Steve and the others. You’re safe. What else do you need?”

”I need _you_ ,” Barnes told her. 

The answer had a sharper edge to it than she was expecting, and Allison blinked, trying to come up with a response. She fumbled for, “What do you need me for?”

”We we’re supposed to do this together,” he reminded her, a kind of woundedness coming to Bucky’s face. “We were a team, you ‘n me. You were my friend. You’re the only one who gets me.”

”I’m still you’re friend,” she promised. “And Steve-“

”Steve knows the old me,” Barnes grimaced. “That’s who he sees when he’s talkin’ to me.”

”You’re still Bucky,” Allison assured him. “That's all that matters.”

”But what if that’s not good enough?” he begged. “What if I’m not the same guy anymore?”

”You’re not,” she shrugged. “How could you be? And that’s okay. Maybe Stovall can help you get some of the old Bucky back, but, if he can’t, that’s still okay. There’s nothing wrong with this Bucky. We get up and we keep going. No matter what, because it’s what we do. Left foot, right foot, repeat. We survive and we evolve. Whoever you think you are today, Steve an’ me, and everyone else, think that’s just fine.” She waved a hand up at him. “You don’t need me to tell you that. You already know it. You just gotta convince yourself.” She smiled, warmly, “Give yourself a break, old man. You’ve earned it.”

In the pause that followed, Bucky gave a small nod. “I heard about you and Stovall today,” he mentioned.

A sly grin tugged back one side of her mouth. “Oh, yeah?” she wondered.

”Sorry I missed it,” he quietly snorted. “It would’ve been a fun lil’ trip down memory lane for the first time you interrogated me. The beat down, the banter, the intimidation.”

”Jesus,” Allison softly groaned, rolling her eyes and dropping her head in regret of her aggressive behavior when she first encountered Barnes. “You‘re not gonna let it go, are you?” she shook her head, with a self-deprecating smirk. 

He gave in to a small grin of his own. “I just don’t want you to go,” he admitted, with a helpless shrug. “All these months of raising hell, and we finally got here, where it’s safe. We have Stovall and I’m finally gonna get this shit out ‘a my head and-” he shook his head. “And now you’re leaving.”

”I’m not gone yet,” she pointed out, moving to meet him halfway for a hug.

Holding her close, Barnes gently complained, “What am I supposed to do without you?”

Allison gave him a squeeze before straightening up to see him again. “Have you seen that hot redhead down the hall?” she teased, quirking up a mischievous brow.

Over the next two weeks, Agent Mowry acted as a SHIELD liaison to keep Allison and Brock updated on the progress for the work on their new home and to assist them with any details associated with the smooth transition to their covers. He had apologized for his part in the deceptions Fury employed to test her loyalty when Allison first arrived at the Tower. She was surprised to hear Mowry had done a few assignments over the years to assist Rumlow, while he oversaw STRIKE. Rumlow couldn’t help but laugh when he heard how Allison and Mowry had met, telling the agent he should’ve known better and passed on the job to mess with Allison. Mowry agreed, with a smile and nod, and accepted Allison’s apology for her admittedly "strong” reactions. He said he understood and would have done the same. He never had any hard feelings. Mowry also kept them apprised of the progress Stovall was making on his work to build the equipment he needed to deprogram Barnes. Mowry teased it wouldn’t be a bad idea for Allison to stop in occasionally and tell the doctor hello, while she was still around, just to keep him motivated.

Barnes softened up to the idea of Allison leaving. He slowly lost his stand-offish demeanor and even had a few private conversations with Rumlow. Brock told Allison he answered some questions and mostly filled in some blanks from Barnes’ time with HYDRA. A couple of times, Rogers was even in on the discussions. It wasn’t completely tension-free, but the trio was making progress in the right direction the more they had the opportunity to interact. And while they did, Allison spent a good amount of time with Natasha and Pepper. The ladies lunched and took a day to pamper themselves at a spa, luxuries Allison had practically forgotten the joy of.

Even Wilson began to come around. He opened with some questions about Allison’s military service back in the day, and shared a little of his own. It seemed like his way of feeling her out, and the more Steve was warming back up to her, the more Sam began to accept her. There was a friendly poker game one Friday night and lazy billiards games here and there. Allison started workouts with Natasha, easing back into her routines, now that her injuries were allowing her to. Allison even had a couple of meetings with Dr. Cho. They had talked about some things that had been on Allison’s mind and the doctor gave her a sleep aid to help at night. It helped, but not as much, Allison thought, as having Brock next to her again. Two weeks later, and Allison hadn’t had a dream about Jack.

By the second Sunday in August, Allison and Brock were standing in their new home. It had been a little harder than she had expected it to be, saying goodbye at the tower. But plans were made to have everyone over the following weekend and it seemed to lighten the mood a bit again. Rumlow almost looked convincing when he gave Bucky a good natured shove in the arm and told him his hug of Allison was long enough. Everyone else thought it was a joke, but Allison knew his tells and shook her head. He gave her an innocent look and shrug. 

Shutting the door, after the crew from SHIELD had finished moving their things from DC and the tower, they took in the new peace and quiet. Boxes of their clothes, books, and other belongings were parted out in the rooms where they would go and furniture placed. Taking her hand and pulling her to his side, Brock marveled, “We made it.”

Allison slipped her arms around him, leaning into his side as he hooked his arm around her. “How did we get here?” she wondered, still amazed by what had happened in the last weeks that led up to this moment.

”You brought us here, sweetheart,” he told her, wrapping his other arm around her and pressing a kiss into her hair. “There wouldn’t be any ‘a this without you.” He gave her a squeeze. “Now, the hard part.”

”Hard part?” she questioned, lifting her chin to see him grinning, fondly, at her.

”Deciding whose couch we’re keeping where, an’ shit,” Brock smirked.

”Well, my couch,” she confidently told him, “ _obviously_ goes in the living room. Yours can go in the other room.”

“You always said my couch was more comfortable,” he protested.

”Yeah,” she conceded, “but my furniture is newer so it looks better, ergo  _my_ couch should go in there.”

”But we’re going to spend more time in there, with the fire place,” he pointed out, “so the better couch, _my_ couch, should go in there.”

Allison cocked up a daring brow, noting, “We haven’t even been here five minutes, and you’re already picking a fight?”

”Yeah,” he freely admitted, with a thoughtful pout and shrug, “but just think of the make up sex.”

Allison laughed, shaking her head. “Is that why we’re arguing over the couches?”

”No,” he grimaced. “Of course not. We’re arguing over the couches, because you’re wrong and my couch should stay in the living room. I’m just thinking ahead about all the other fights we can have and then make up for. Like whose coffee maker we’re keeping or dishes we use. I can’t wait to fight over all that bullshit.”

”All for the make up sex?” she chuckled.

”We got a lot of rooms to christen,” he wolfishly grinned. “And we got a lot ta make up for.”

Laughing with him, after the startled yelp she’d let out when he leaned back and lifted her feet from the floor, Allison got the feeling everything was finally going to be okay. She had spent whole weeks not fighting or running. She was relaxed again, content, and even feeling optimistic about their arrangement with SHIELD. She had Brock, her friends back, and everything to look forward to again. For the first time in a long time, Allison felt like she was home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is it. The final chapter of my pet project, my labor of love, my personal challenge. While I’m sad that Echo is over, I am thankful and humbled by the support and interest this fic has gotten from you. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did and that you check out [Jack Rollins](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9950762/chapters/25440408%E2%80%9D%20rel=) (a requested companion fic to Echo) and do the same.  
> Once again, thank you!! ˙˚٩(๑❛ᴗ❛๑)۶✧
> 
>  
> 
> Come find me on tumblr [whostheblondegirlwriting](Https://tumblr.com/blogs.whostheblondegirlwriting) for posting info on wips, tumblr exclusive fics, fangirling in general, and more.


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